The Sins of Heaven
by Lif61
Summary: After running away from home, Jack is kidnapped by angels who want to use him to repopulate Heaven's dying forces.
1. Nathaniel

**A/N: I've had this written for awhile, and it was inspired from 13x07 "War of the Worlds". Also, my sister has been begging me to write it. It's going to get _insanely_ dark with rape and torture (oh look, my MO), so don't read it unless you're chill with that in fiction. And also, I'm not sure how it's going to end, and I haven't written it for awhile, so just keep that in mind. I have four chapters of it right now, so I'll try to post one every day.**

* * *

He'd hurt them. He'd actually hurt them. Jack had wanted to leave to avoid bringing harm to his family, but he'd done so just as he'd said goodbye. Sam, Dean, and Castiel were all better off without him.

Leaving had been easy just as it'd been difficult. Easy because he knew he was the problem. He was a danger, to them, and maybe to everyone else. To save them, he'd do anything, even if it meant never seeing them again. That's what was so hard, the thought that he'd never enjoy another moment with his family. All he knew was the three of them, no one else. He had already learned a lot from them, but there was so much he still didn't know.

Life alone was teaching him that.

Jack didn't need to eat much, but after the first few days he was hungry, and apparently going up to people and asking for food was only sure to get him disgruntled and annoyed looks. He didn't understand. Humans were good. So why weren't they helping him?

On his first day a man named Tucker who drove a big truck had given him a ride out of Lebanon, dropping him off in a city he'd told him was called Denver. He hadn't talked to the man much, though he was sure he could learn some things from him. Jack currently didn't care much for humanity and all their wonders and strange ways of living. He just wanted to get away. Besides, maybe if he said the wrong thing he would be seen as a threat. Humans sometimes reacted to threats by trying to attack them, and Jack knew he would attempt to defend himself.

And he'd kill them.

Just like he'd killed that security guard.

But if he didn't say much then maybe he would have less reason to use his powers.

Sam. Sam had said he needed to work on his powers. Sam had powers. Though Jack had never seen him use them, he trusted what he said; that he'd get better with practice, through focusing.

He'd work on them. He would. But he'd wait until he was far enough away.

Though the trip to Denver had taken hours Jack still didn't feel like he'd put enough distance between himself and his family. But that was as far as Tucker would take him, so Jack thanked him.

He decided he could try and find someone else.

But no one was willing.

He wandered around the city, getting kicked out of shops he found with interesting things in them when the clerks realized he had no money and no intention to buy anything.

When Jack happened across a bookstore, he thought of Sam. With no goals, other than to lay low so as to not cause trouble, he wandered in.

There were rows and rows of shelves, the books sectioned off based on genre - fantasy, sci-fi, young adult, romance, mystery, thriller, and many others. Sam had introduced him to fantasy and science fiction, so he started heading over to those two sections - which lay next to each other - thinking maybe he could find something interesting. But he passed the romance section on the way. The covers portraying pictures of flowers or mirrors and dazzling young men and women caught his eye.

He knew the definition of the word _romance_ , but it was never anything Sam, Dean, or Castiel had discussed with him, not even about the relationships in the movies he had seen. But some of those relationships had not made sense to him, like Anakin and Padmé. He understood Padmé's love, even when Anakin had become Darth Vader, understood how it broke her heart - a phrase which he learned to not take literally - but he didn't understand Anakin's love. Anakin's love, even when it came to others, was violent, driving him to kill to try and protect those he cared about. But didn't Sam and Dean do the same thing? No, that was ridiculous. Anakin did it out of revenge. But could love and romance be violent in such a way? Jack didn't know. Even with the movies he didn't know much in that area and he was curious.

So he went over, picking up a book that portrayed a woman in a red dress on the front, her face not shown, a man in a suit was standing behind her, his hand resting over her collarbone in a way he found intriguing. Jack stared at it, leaning closer as he tried to understand what that touch meant. His hand looked dangerously close to her neck, which he knew could not be a good thing. But her stance was relaxed. Did she trust him, perhaps? Was his touch some sort of sign of intimacy? Or maybe it showed his power over her and she knew to give into it. But… that didn't seem to fit. Did it?

Laughter drew his attention away from the cover, and he glanced over at the science fiction section diagonally across from where he was. There were two teenage boys there, casting glances at him, their eyes gleaming with an emotion he wasn't sure he'd seen before. He didn't understand the scent he was getting from them either, but it was prickly, maybe unfriendly. Laughter was a sign of humor and joy though, so why did the way their emotions smelled not add up? Was that what joy smelled like? Jack wasn't sure, realized he hadn't smelled it much while with Sam, Dean, and Castiel. All three of them were terribly pained and often sad, even when they pretended not to be.

He heard them whispering, talking about him, how he must have been some sort of _sissy_ or _pansy_ for looking in the romance section. Jack didn't know what those words meant, but he didn't like them. Rather than get angry at them, or even at the older man who they looked a lot alike who stood farther down the row of books, Jack put the book down, and left the store, forcing himself to take deep breaths. He wouldn't hurt them. He wouldn't.

Night fell, and he wasn't yet in need of sleep, but it would be nice to have a place to rest. The crowds that had not been present in Lebanon were overwhelming to him here. There were so many sights, so many different people, and all their emotions were mixing together in a massive tangle, giving him a headache. And the tall buildings that had drawn his eye at first now seemed ominous and imposing. Jack didn't understand how humans could live like this, so close to each other. Didn't they like their space? Sam and Dean certainly liked it, and lots of space was something Jack had grown used to as well. The city was smothering.

Amongst the people milling about noisily, all with their own destinations in mind, Jack spotted something, a brightly lit neon sign spelling out _Blue Eye Lounge_. He knew that the word _lounge_ was indicative of the word _leisure_ and that meant rest. That sounded rather nice at the moment. So Jack crossed the street, cars honking noisily as he did so, and some insults he'd heard Dean say and worse were thrown his way. He didn't know why, but there was so much pervading his senses that he didn't take the time to stop and try to understand. He kept walking, making his way to the dark door underneath the sign.

It wasn't as noisy in the lounge, or as crowded. Maybe wherever he was wasn't very popular, or perhaps more humans liked to congregate there at a different time. He stood near the door for a few seconds, taking in the counter with drinks behind it and stools in front, booths and couches taking up the room in a way that must have been some form of organization. The lights were dim, and low music that he didn't know if he liked yet was playing.

Jack looked at the drinks again in their different shaped bottles, and he realized he was thirsty. He hadn't had something to drink since before he'd left the bunker. There was an older woman wearing a black apron behind the counter who seemed to be tending to other people there, so Jack knew she was the person to go to. He took a seat at the counter, and in a few seconds the woman was across from him, asking to see his ID.

"I don't have an ID," Jack responded, remembering that the letters stood for _identification_ _card_ , and he knew he didn't have one. He didn't have any records at all, which Dean had assured him was a good thing in his case, but now it was bringing about a problem.

She raised her eyebrows, leaning against the counter, and Jack could tell she didn't quite believe him.

"No ID, hmm? Did you lose it or something?"

"I never had one."

"Look, are you over twenty-one or not?"

"Over twenty-one what?"

"Of age. Years of age."

Now understanding what she was asking, Jack smiled and said, "I'm three months old."

Apparently the woman hadn't liked that, and thought he'd "taken something", whatever that meant. She had kicked him out of the lounge, so Jack wandered again.

He'd sit down in the quieter parts of the city, in the streets that were smaller. They smelled dirtier, and were grimier, but at least it wasn't as loud. He realized he was getting dirty, that his clothes were getting dirty, and as that happened, people were less inclined to talk to him when he asked for food or water.

It occurred to him that he could break one of those machines he saw people getting money from out on the street. But that would be wrong, that would be stealing, so he didn't do it. He told himself that he wasn't desperate yet.

Jack saw other people who seemed like him. They were hungry, tired, had no home to speak of or family to help them. Well, Jack knew he did have family to help him, but he didn't want it. They weren't safe around him.

He talked to a few of those sad people, and he tried to discreetly heal the ones who complained of different hurts and ailments. But he wasn't able to help, not like Castiel could've.

Maybe Dean's first impression of him was right. He was a dark creature meant only for dark things.

At night when less people were around, Jack began to work on his powers. He'd sit in what he now knew was called an alley, and levitate pieces of trash that he found. He got better at it, able to hold them up higher and higher and for longer times. He started practicing with bricks that had fallen from buildings, even managing up to three at a time, though he couldn't hold that for long.

But after a little over a week Jack got sick of the city, and since no one wanted to take him away from it, he chose a direction and started walking. He walked till the tall buildings were far behind him, till houses were long gone, and there was just grass and trees. He stuck to the road, and just as he began getting a headache, his ears ringing, a midnight blue car pulled up beside him. It was bigger than the Impala.

A young man who felt different than the other humans rolled down the window and leaned over to call out, "Do you need a ride?"

Jack was surprised, and still trying to make sense of his headache, which had suddenly left him. And this was the first he'd seen of human kindness in days. He smiled.

"Yes."

"Alright, come hop in on the other side."

His smile grew wider and he did as the man said.

Jack introduced himself, not holding out his hand to shake, but the man didn't seem to care that he was unclean and grabbed it anyway.

"I'm Nathaniel. So where are you headed, Jack?"

"Away."

"Away?"

He nodded.

"I can do that. But is there anything else you need? I'm on my way home. I can let you get cleaned up, give you a change of clothes."

Jack looked down at his own clothes, clothes that Sam had bought for him.

"Or I could clean those for you if you want."

Jack decided that's what he wanted, but after his few days in the city, Nathaniel with his short, immaculate golden hair and his casual clothes that still managed to look expensive, confused him.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"You look like you need help," Nathaniel answered as he started driving again. "Any person on God's green earth should be willing to reach out a hand to those in need."

Jack perked up at that.

"You believe in God?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"Even though you haven't seen him?"

"Let me tell you something, Jack," he began in an easy tone, "if humans only believed in what they could see, we wouldn't have gotten anywhere. We believe in love and hate and grief, though we can't see that. So why not believe in God? The universe had to get here somehow, right?"

Jack relaxed in his seat, tension he hadn't even realized he had washing away as he talked to Nathaniel. He knew there was good in humanity, but his trying times had pushed that to the back of his mind. This man was bringing it to the forefront again, and it made Jack happy. This man was good, like his mother.

"He's real, you know," Jack said. "God." He hoped that some confirmation would make this kind man even happier.

"You believe in him, too?"

"What's to believe? We don't believe in facts, we know them. And I know God is real. My father told me all about him."

"Your father must be a good man."

"He is."

With Castiel now on his mind Jack felt more at ease, and he was excited that he would soon be clean.

As Nathaniel drove, the sun setting behind them, he offered to have Jack stay the night. He had an extra bed and he'd cook him dinner too, and even breakfast the next morning.

"Don't you have work?" Jack asked, knowing humans had schedules they had to keep to, jobs that gave them money.

"Kid, tomorrow's Sunday."

"Oh."

Jack had not bothered to keep track of the days during his wanderings of Denver.

Once at Nathaniel's house (which Jack thought was too large for just him) he was led to the bathroom and told to leave his clothes outside the door. The bathroom was smaller than the ones in the bunker, but it was still nice. He tracked dirt in on the white tile, for which he told himself he would apologize later.

It took him a minute or so to figure out how to turn the shower on since it was designed differently from what he knew. The water pressure was lighter, and it tickled his skin in a way that was slightly unpleasant. But Jack didn't mind much since he was getting clean.

He was in there for nearly an hour, steaming up the bathroom. When he got out of the shower and dried up, he realized that he didn't have clothes to wear. He placed the towel on the counter and opened the door to poke his head out. Hanging from the handle was a dark grey robe, almost like the one Dean wore. Jack grabbed it and closed the door to have some privacy while he put it on.

He still didn't entirely understand the concept of privacy, wasn't sure why it was so important to humans. He didn't understand why they seemed uncomfortable with their own nudity either, but Jack knew if Nathaniel walked by and he had left the door open, he wouldn't have liked it, and it would be rude to make his host unhappy. Jack adhered to the social norms humans found important and he would continue to do so, even if they didn't make sense. Maybe they would eventually. Though, Castiel admitted he was still confused by some things, and Castiel was very smart.

Once he'd wiped off the mirror, Jack ran his hands through his wet hair, trying to get out the knots and parting it in a way that felt comfortable. Deciding that he looked nice enough, he left, following the smell of food to the kitchen.

Nathaniel seemed happy to see him clean, and he gave Jack a glass of water as he sat down at the breakfast nook in the kitchen. Jack wanted to drink it all at once, but he knew from one of the books in the bunker library that that would get him sick, so he paced himself. It was difficult since the water might as well have been the best thing he'd ever had. His stomach started grumbling, and Jack licked his lips eagerly as he eyed Nathaniel working.

"What are you making?" he asked, though he still didn't know a large variety of foods.

"Hamburgers," he answered. "I hope that's okay. I thought maybe some red meat would do you good."

He started thinking of Dean, who he knew really liked hamburgers. He'd even let Jack have one that he'd made once, and it was what humans might describe as heavenly. The use of that word didn't always make sense to him, but he was so hungry he had a feeling Nathaniel's cooking would surely be worthy of it.

While Nathaniel waited for something, he refilled Jack's glass of water, which he had just finished off.

In a few minutes, dinner was ready, and there were even french fries to go along with it. Jack ate slowly, remembering Dean's comment when he'd first had a burger: " _You can slow down, you know? That stuff's not gonna disappear._ "

"So what's your story?" Nathaniel asked when they were halfway into their meal.

Jack swallowed his bite of food, and asked, "M-my story?"

"How'd you end up on the side of the road?"

Jack squinted at him, not sure why he was asking. "I walked," he answered slowly.

Nathaniel laughed a little, and it was different from the way the boys in the bookstore from the other day had laughed. It was light-hearted. "I know. I mean, what circumstances led you to being like that? To wanting to get away? Away from what?"

Then Jack used a tactic he'd often witnessed Dean do when Sam asked him a question he didn't want to answer: he took a large bite of food.

Jack didn't want to lie to him, knew that lying was bad, but telling the truth could put him in danger. But maybe he _could_ lie. He'd seen Sam and Dean and even Castiel lie for good reasons. Was his reason good enough? Jack didn't trust that it was, wasn't sure he was a good judge of morals, especially given who his true father was, so he thought it'd be easier to say nothing.

He lowered his gaze, something he'd seen Sam do when he didn't want to talk. He'd even seen Sam do it sometimes when Jack walked into whatever room he was in, and he always smelled afraid and hurt, something that Jack didn't understand. His thoughts turned bitter with that, growing dark. If Sam, the first person to take him in, was afraid of him every once in awhile, a deep, blunt fear that Dean and Castiel didn't even seem to share, then maybe something was wrong with him. Maybe he was more like Lucifer than he thought.

Thankfully, Nathaniel didn't press him when he refused to talk.

After dinner, Jack got up to leave and find the extra bed Nathaniel had spoken of earlier. He'd last slept seventy-five hours ago, so he was feeling a little sleepy.

"Whoa, where are you going?" Nathaniel asked, turning away from the sink which he'd just put a pan into. "I like your company."

"I'm tired," Jack told him.

"Oh, then in that case, let me show you your room for the night."

Nathaniel walked past him, leading Jack down the hallway and up the stairs. They walked past the bathroom this time, and he opened a white door on the right, letting Jack walk in.

The bed, which was gray just like his robe, was large and looked nice and soft. There was a little dark wooden table to his left with a thin, metal vase on it that held yellow daisies. Jack stepped into the room, and Nathaniel did the same, presumably to say a few last things before he went to bed.

Just as he was turning around to thank him once more, something hit him on the back of the head, and Nathaniel's hand came around, his fingers pressing against his forehead.

Before panic could set in and his powers would instinctively rise up in him, Jack was unconscious, his body slumping to the floor.


	2. Bad Guys

Sam and Dean got a call from Jody a few days after Jack had left. Though Sam usually liked talking to Jody and always appreciated her company, he nearly groaned when he saw her name pop up on his phone. She might have a case for them, and Sam wasn't in the mood for a case. Neither was Dean, and he was sure Castiel wasn't interested either.

Still, he closed his laptop, and answered in a tone he hoped sounded cheerful, "Hey, Jody!"

Dean, who sat across from him in the war room looked up from his laptop at that, and Sam put the phone on speaker, placing it on the table.

"Hi, Jody," his brother greeted.

"Hey, guys. I got some news for you. I put word out with some of my police buddies, and I think I found your boy."

"Y-you did?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"Got some shots of someone on a traffic cam that matches the description you gave me."

Sam perked up at that, but he held in his smile, knowing that hoping too much could be dangerous.

"Great! Where is he?" he questioned.

"Last night he was seen leaving Denver, Colorado, and then there was nothing until a few minutes ago. Someone was taking him to a playground, I think."

"A playground?" Sam repeated, not yet understanding why Jack would go there.

Dean straightened in his chair, a grave expression on his face, and then what might be going on dawned on Sam as well.

"Dude," Dean began, "a _playground_."

Sam's stomach clenched, and for a few seconds he forgot they were on the phone with Jody.

When he remembered that she was saying, "...want to go to a playground, but it looked to me like he was sleeping."

"And you said he was with someone?" Dean questioned.

"Yeah," she responded. "He was a young guy, blond hair, chiseled jaw. Know anyone like that?"

"No," Sam answered. "Hey, Jody, do you mind sending us any pictures of him you have? It might help us figure out what's going on."

"Sure thing. Want me to keep a lookout for him too?"

"No, no. We'll take it from here," Sam told her. He didn't want Jody to get involved in this any more than she had to. If his suspicions were right, things might get dangerous and fast.

"Thanks, Jody."

"No problem, boys. You take care of yourselves, and just call me if you need anything."

Jody hung up, and then Dean hurried up out of his seat and left the room, presumably to get Castiel. While he was gone, Sam got a text from Jody. He opened it, looking at the pictures she'd sent him. It was indeed Jack that he was looking at. He was still in the same clothes he had left in, and they looked clean though they would surely be dirty by now. Jack himself looked clean. Maybe he was doing better off on his own than they had predicted he would. The man driving the van he was in was lean, his hair neatly combed, and he had a face that Sam thought might belong on a statue, partially because of the lack of emotion that marked the grave features.

Seeing Jack asleep next to someone who was a stranger to him made his heart go up into his throat, but he let out a long breath, telling himself to not jump to conclusions.

Two sets of footsteps approached quickly, and he turned towards the library, seeing as Dean led Castiel over.

"You get the pictures?" his brother asked.

Sam held out his phone to him in response, which was snatched from his hand. Castiel peered at the screen just as Dean did.

"That's Nathaniel," Castiel said instantly.

"Who?" Dean asked.

"Nathaniel. He's a seraph, low-level. He never really participated in any of the battles that have gone on in Heaven recently. In fact, I thought he might've run off and hidden himself away. He always seemed cowardly."

Dean scoffed. "Cowardly? The dude just kidnapped the son of _Satan_."

"We don't know if that's what happened," Sam said, though his words felt untrue. He ignored the flicker of emotion that went through him from Dean's last word. He had to focus.

The angels had tried to kill Jack and that had failed. So any reason for Jack to be with an angel couldn't be good, and he didn't yet trust that the boy had developed his father's skill at manipulation. He wouldn't have been able to make Nathaniel work for him.

"Sure, 'cause the angels are all just warm and cuddly when it comes to the kid," Dean snapped.

Sam stood. "Look, maybe something else is going on here."

Castiel took Sam's phone from Dean and gave it back to him as he said earnestly, "I know you're trying to hold out hope, but this doesn't look good, especially with where they're headed."

"Heaven," Sam stated.

"What do we do?" Dean asked. "We have to get him back."

"I know," Castiel responded, now turning to his brother. "Which is why I'm going after him."

"Well you're not going alone."

"Dean-" Cas began, before Sam cut him off.

"We'll go with you, as far as we can. Jack may look to you as a father, but he's our family too. He's all of our responsibility."

"It could be-"

"Dangerous?" Dean finished.

Castiel rolled his eyes, clearly not liking being interrupted by each brother.

"So? We do dangerous all the time." Dean came forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're not leaving us out on this one."

Sam put a hand on his other shoulder. "We just got you back, and we're not gonna lose you again."

Castiel sighed, and Sam could tell it held some affection.

"Alright," he agreed. "Alright. Let's go to Heaven."

* * *

Jack was in a white room when he woke up. It was empty except for a bed, which was also a stark white; even the wood had been painted that way. He was lying on it, looking up at the lights that were much too bright. This wasn't Nathaniel's house. This…

Nathaniel.

He'd attacked him.

Jack was up and off the bed in an instant, looking for Nathaniel, for any adversary, all his senses on high alert. He was alone, but raw emotion still bristled underneath his skin, waiting to be released.

Maybe it was better that he was alone because he started screaming, and _something_ was forced out from him, some sort of golden energy that soon encompassed the room, blowing out the lights, which defied science and turned back on again. The energy bounced off of the walls, only to be redirected back at him. But the energy didn't hurt him. It was taken into him again, only to be released once more.

With the way the room was reacting to this violent tide of energy, the lights were flickering, sparks flying, and Jack would be shrouded in darkness before he was illuminated again, only for it to repeat like a cycle.

Where was he, where was he? Where was Nathaniel? What had he done to him? What was going to be done to him? Why was he there?

He had to get out, he had to get out.

The thoughts didn't form in neat sentences in his head. They were pounding, beating, bright colors, colors that he was sure humans couldn't even see. They screamed of panic, of anger, of the need to escape.

Even as he screamed he took in a door directly across from him, but it hadn't opened due to his powers, so he knew it wouldn't open if he tried the handle. Jack didn't know why or how, but he was stuck.

He screamed until a blinding pain took over his head, screeching voices in his ears. He fell to his knees, the energy he'd released into the room curling back into him, feeling similar to a quick inhale, but deeper than that. The lights flickered once more before remaining on. He held his hands over his ears, not understanding the scraping, incisive words he heard, but they seemed powerful, commanding.

Someone came into the room, a man, and he glanced up at him through watering eyes that were still glowing gold. Not a man. An angel. He desperately looked behind him, but the door was closed again.

The voices stopped, the pain ceasing instantly, and Jack fell forward, holding himself up on his elbows, panting.

"Where am I?" he asked quietly, feeling all of his emotions die down till exhaustion overlaid everything.

"Heaven," the angel answered.

"Are you going to kill me?"

He laughed, and he smelled wrong as he did so.

"Of course not. Heaven needs you."

Jack looked up at that, trying to sit back on his feet.

"What?"

"I'm not repeating myself. I know you heard me."

Jack's eyes went to the door again, and he sorely wished it was open.

"Why?" he asked. "Why me?"

"Because you're powerful, Nephilim."

He said the last word like the _N_ was capital, denoting a name of some sort, but it felt degrading.

He rose to his feet, anger coming to life in him again.

"My _name_ is _Jack_."

The angel took a step forward, something Jack didn't like.

"I don't care," he said. "Now, boy," - he shoved him a little - "get on the bed."

Jack screamed again, feeling threatened by his tone, by the shove he'd given him. He unleashed his power in a wave, feeling it coursing hot within him. The angel was lifted off the white, marble floor, a look of shock on his face. He remained there for a few seconds and then he was thrown against the far wall, a loud _crunch_ meeting Jack's ears through his screams.

Those ear-splitting voices attacked his head again, somehow even louder than before, and he collapsed onto his side. The pain cut him off from his powers, and he tried clawing his way through it to reach them, but he couldn't. More angels entered the room, helping the other one to his feet, healing his broken back in golden and blue light, and Jack shouted at them, wanting them to stop hurting him, wanting them to let him go. He started sobbing, desperately telling them through his blinding tears that he was sorry.

Then they were gone, and the impenetrable door was closed once again.

The angels stopped yelling in his head and he curled into a ball on the floor, continuing to cry.

He didn't understand.

If they wanted him to help them, why were they treating him this way? Was it because they were scared of him? Was it because they were evil?

A terrible coppery taste came up in his mouth when he thought back to when Asmodeus had captured him. Though his time with him had been short, he'd treated him much better than this.

Jack didn't want that. He didn't want the demons to be the good guys in his story. He didn't want the angels to be the bad guys. He didn't want the humans to be the bad guys either. But the humans had been rude, and the angels had hurt him. Maybe Jack was the bad guy in all of their stories.

Jack didn't want to be the bad guy.

* * *

He stopped crying after a few minutes, and then he picked himself up off the floor. He took in a shaky breath, and now, since he was less emotionally charged, less panicked, he realized he was in the clothes he'd been wearing before, and they were clean. So Nathaniel had stuck to his word. Jack appreciated it, glad he had some piece of his family with him, even if it was just as simple as what he was wearing. He didn't have his shoes though, or his socks, and the floor was cold against his feet.

He walked over to the bed, contemplating it. Why had that angel told him to get on it? He didn't understand.

The hair on the back of Jack's neck rose, and he looked around the room, having the distinct feeling that he was being watched. Maybe he was. If he were the angels he'd probably watch himself too, would want to observe the strange creature to see what it did, to make sure it cooperated and didn't hurt itself.

As he sat on the bed, he realized something, something a few characters in the movies he had watched had experienced.

He was a prisoner.

But why? Was this because he'd killed that security guard? That was all he had done wrong before being in this awful, white room.

No. He remembered how Dean had treated him at first, remembered the things he'd heard him and Sam argue about.

It was because of what he was. It was because of who his father was.

Lucifer. This was his fault.

 _He_ was the bad guy. He had to be. Surely with the way Sam smelled whenever he was mentioned it meant something. No one was ever that afraid and in pain without a decent reason. Maybe Lucifer had hurt him. But why? There _was_ something different about Sam, some essence that marked him as… special. Dean too. But Sam, he…

Jack didn't understand it but sometimes he looked at Sam and thought of Lucifer.

A strange ache grew in his chest as he realized Sam must do the same, must see Lucifer in him.

He remembered Sam's face when he'd called him _father_ , mistaking him for Castiel. He had seen him as a strong, warm presence, but Sam had seemed to think it meant something else. Had he thought he'd mistaken him for Lucifer? Why would that be?

He _wasn't_ Lucifer. Jack knew that for a fact. But he was connected to him in some way he couldn't make sense of, but it hurt Sam, and he didn't like that.

All of it was Lucifer's fault.

Maybe Jack wasn't the bad guy. Maybe the angels weren't the bad guys either.

Maybe all of that suffering he'd seen and even the bit he had endured, all had one cause, almost like Sauron in _The Lord of the Rings_.

Lucifer was like Sauron, like Darth Vader, like Lord Voldemort. The bad guy. _He_ was the bad guy.

Jack hated him.

Then he thought of how powerful he must be to bring about such evil in the world, to make someone as brave as Sam agonized and afraid.

Jack feared him.

And Jack, Jack was told he was _more_ powerful than him, told that he would go darkside, that he would cause mayhem and destruction. But he was also told that he would bring peace, that he could choose to be good, like the decision Frodo had made after the ring had corrupted him, like the decision Harry Potter had made once Voldemort had gotten inside his head, like the decision Luke Skywalker had made when Darth Vader had asked him to join him. But those choices had all seemed so difficult, so… tiresome.

Could Jack be like them?

Could he be like Sam and Dean and Castiel? Could he be like his mother whose presence in his life he missed so dearly?

Or was he more like his true father than he thought?

Jack was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the door had opened till it was too late. It was closed again, and Nathaniel stood before him, now in a gray suit.

Jack wanted to yell at him, to hurt him, but he held back, knowing he would be hurt. Though pain was a necessary part of life, he could minimize it if he had to.

Did that make him weak? Did it make him less? Was he less good that way?

"I'm sorry about Cael. He can be rude sometimes."

Cael, which had been pronounced like the name _Kyle_ , must have been the angel whose back he'd broken.

Jack didn't care about Cael's well-being, but he knew that wasn't what would be described as normal, so he asked, "How is he?"

"Healed, now, though he's angry."

"He scared me," Jack admitted. " _You_ scare me."

"But, Jack," Nathaniel began, "I helped you. I washed your clothes, I let you clean yourself. I gave you food, water."

"And then you brought me here after knocking me out," he reasoned. "I don't want to be a prisoner."

"You're not a prisoner. More like, a uh… special guest."

"Then let me out," he insisted.

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

Jack turned away from him, the urge to hurt him growing.

"Then I'm a prisoner," he reasoned.

"Jack, we…" Nathaniel sighed after he trailed off. "It would be easier if you cooperated."

"I _don't_. _Care_ ," Jack told him. "My family taught me that helping people is right, that it's good. But they help those who deserve it. I don't think you and the other angels do. So I don't want to help. I just… I just want to go home. Please, Nathaniel. Just let me go home."

"We need you."

Jack let out a frustrated yell, getting to his feet.

"You all keep saying that and then you never explain! What do you need? Is it so bad that you have to keep it from me?"

"No. What we need from you is complicated. It will take time to figure out how to make this work."

"And you don't care if I say no."

"Not particularly."

"Then…" Jack faltered, not sure he had the courage for what he was going to say next, but Castiel could probably do it, Sam and Dean could probably do it. He straightened, looking Nathaniel straight in the eye, and he said, "Then get on with it."

Nathaniel's lips drew into a thin line, and then he came over to him, pressing his fingers to Jack's temple.

* * *

He was in the bunker, on the bed in the room he'd chosen: 22. Dean was walking by the door, already dressed for the day. He stopped in the doorway as Jack sat up.

"Hey, glad you're up. I'm making pancakes."

"Pancakes?" Jack asked, not knowing what that word meant.

Now Sam was there, most likely having just come from his room next door.

"Yeah, pancakes," he said. "They're a type of food. Dean's great at making them. You hungry?"

Jack nodded, and Dean beckoned him over. "Come on, then.

When the three of them got to the kitchen Castiel was already there, making a bitter drink for Sam and Dean that Jack had learned was called _coffee_. He'd tried it once and he didn't particularly like it.

Castiel gave him a warm smile and then took a seat across the table, carrying over a mug with something white and fluffy on the top.

"Here," his father offered to him as he sat down across from him.

Jack frowned at it. "I don't like coffee."

"It's hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate?" he asked carefully, testing out the words as he said them.

"Since when do we have hot chocolate?" Sam asked, sitting down beside Jack and taking a sip of his coffee.

"I went into town last night and bought some. I thought Jack might like it." Jack took the mug. It was pleasantly warm in his hand. "Go on," his father urged. "Try it."

Jack brought it to his mouth and gingerly took a sip. Sweet warmth was on his tongue, and he liked it a lot. The white on top was smooth and just as delicious.

He smiled as he put the mug down.

"This makes me happy," he told them.

"Good," Dean said from where he stood by the stove. "We want you to be happy."

"Jack, you, uh…" Sam started.

He turned to him, furrowing his eyebrows. What was he trying to say? Sam smiled in amusement, and then Castiel said, "You have whipped cream on your face."

Whipped cream. That must be what the white topping was.

He wiped over his lip with his thumb, figuring it would be there, and it was. He sucked it into his mouth, enjoying the creamy taste once more.

He looked at his mug, and realized there wasn't as much whipped cream as he wanted.

"Can I have some more?" he asked.

"Sure thing," Dean responded, going over to the fridge and grabbing a can with red and white on it. It had a red cap, which he took off, before pressing a nozzle and putting more whipped cream on his hot chocolate. Jack took the can from him, observed it for a bit, and then tilted his head back, and sprayed the whipped cream into his mouth.

He closed his mouth and smiled when it was full, which set his family into a fit of laughter for some reason, but he liked it. They were happy. He was happy.

* * *

Black. There was just black. Jack couldn't see a thing, and whatever he'd been experiencing before quickly faded. Sam, Dean, Castiel… They weren't here. There were no pancakes, or hot chocolate, or whipped cream. No laughter, no joy, no comfort.

He knew his eyes were open, but still he couldn't see. Was something covering his eyes? He felt… bare, and with some contemplation he realized his clothes were gone. That didn't bother him, though he knew it would bother humans. Did it mean something that they would be bothered? Was it some instinct? Or perhaps it was something to do with vulnerability. Jack considered this, thinking that it could be smart to take what a human might feel in this situation into consideration.

Did this mean that he was in danger?

There was something cold around his wrists and ankles. He thought it might be metal, and when he tried to move, the metal pulled at him. It was secured to something other than him.

The bed. He was on the bed. The metal could be secured to the bed.

What was happening to him? Had Nathaniel conjured up that reality inside his head? Had he done this to him?

No. Not just him. There was more than one angel in the room. He could sense them, but he couldn't tell how many there were.

"I don't understand," Jack said to them, pulling at his restraints again, both with his body and his powers - the latter of which was of no use as well. He was starting to feel nervous. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because we need you to lie still," a female voice answered.

Jack wanted to ask them why, but he didn't think they would tell him anything.

He didn't know what was going to happen to him, didn't know why. But he did know one thing.

Only villains in movies restrained people like this.

Lucifer wasn't the only bad guy he had to worry about. The angels were the bad guys too.

* * *

 **A/N: Reviews would be nice, guys! It doesn't have to be long. You could put that you liked it, or maybe any thoughts you had while reading it, how you think I'm doing with writing Jack (seriously, this story is my first time writing him), any ideas as to where you think the story is going, what you think of the angels. You could slam your head against the keyboard and hit send, even.**


	3. It Hurts

**A/N: Here's chapter three, as promised! Tomorrow might be the last update for this story for awhile. I've got some writer's block with it, and I'll be talking with a friend about some uh, _interesting_ ideas for it. **

* * *

Though Jack knew struggling was useless, he tried again. Maybe with enough force against the restraints they would break.

A voice told him, someone who wasn't Cael or Nathaniel, "That won't work, Nephilim. Your shackles were forged with the same wardings placed on your father's cage."

Cage? No one had mentioned a cage to him before, but he did know that Lucifer had somehow been cast out of Heaven and locked up. They'd put him in a cage? Weren't cages for animals? He knew Lucifer was evil, but putting him in something like that didn't seem right. It didn't seem right to put anyone in a cage.

But if the wardings placed on it had been able to hold Lucifer then he knew he most likely wouldn't get anywhere with trying to break out. He was powerful, but he didn't understand his powers just yet.

Maybe he could use them to fight the angels, keep them away from him.

Though he already couldn't see, he closed his eyes, and tried to focus. It was difficult with his pulse quickening from what he recognized as fear. He tried to ignore that, tried to find something to focus on. He went to the bunker in his head, of his own volition this time, which felt good.

He was in the library with his family. He imagined the smell of the old books, which Sam had excitedly told him once was similar to the scents of vanilla and almonds and was due to the chemical breakdown of the pages. Jack had worried at first that the books would fall apart if he touched them, but Sam had showed him that with some of them you just had to be gentle. He imagined that he could feel the solidity of the chair, the floor, the table, that Sam, Dean, and Castiel were all at the table with him, and he could hear them laughing. It was a sound he hadn't really heard from any of them, but he came up with what it might sound like. Dean's laugh would be deep and hearty, the sound leaving him with his mouth wide open as he tossed his head back, not a care in the world keeping it in at that moment. Sam's laugh would be bubbly, maybe a bit high-pitched, and Jack pictured him leaning over the table a bit, his head down, as the wonderful sound left him. Castiel's laugh would be quiet, something breathy and low, but no less happy, his smile showing his mirth.

For now, he was able to ignore the fact that what he came up with wasn't real, and he focused on it, taking deep breaths, even when it felt like his throat was constricting.

He searched for his powers, which he didn't always realize were there. The energy wasn't hidden away deep inside him. It was him, part of him. Maybe half of him, maybe all of him. He pictured it as a golden light residing in all of him. And as he pictured it, he felt it as a warmth in his body. Jack envisioned it moving outwards, towards the shackles holding him. It did nothing except let him feel the microscopic bumps and dips in the metal, feel the warding in it that existed on an even smaller level than that. It seemed to appear in his mind, the symbols bright and sharp, and an ache formed behind his eyes. Jack kept trying to push his powers outwards, but they wouldn't go further than that. Sweat beaded on his forehead from his efforts.

The shackles began feeling hot, and he stopped, gasping in air. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath.

He tensed when a hand started gently running through his hair, and he didn't know why they were doing that to him. People hadn't really touched him before. He'd seen characters in movies touch each other's hair, had read it in some books, but no one had ever really done it to him before. What did it mean? He'd seen it in different contexts and knew it was meant to be a friendly gesture of sorts. But he wasn't friends with any of these angels. Was it bad then that one of them was touching his hair?

Did he know that hand? Was it familiar to a hand he'd seen? Could it possibly be Nathaniel? Or was his mind just coming up with that because he couldn't see who he was with?

"Don't strain yourself. We already told you it's useless."

Nathaniel.

One of the hands in his hair went down to his chest, resting above his collarbone and he thought of the cover of the romance book he'd seen a week ago. But he didn't like any of these angels romantically. He wasn't even sure what romance felt like. He just knew that he didn't like the angels at all. In fact, he hated them, and now that he knew they were bad guys, he feared them as well. Jack didn't want those hands on him that he was pretty sure were Nathaniel's.

He tried pulling away, which just made him sink down into the bed a little, yet the hand stayed.

Another hand was on him, a more delicate hand, and based on the people he'd seen, he knew it was feminine. The fingers lightly ran along his chest in circles, and his skin tingled. Jack tried pulling away again, but then big hands were on his shoulders, running along the length of his arms and back up again. Nathaniel's hand trailed up his neck, his thumb stroking his throat, and it drew to mind an image of Grima Wormtongue doing a similar thing to Eowyn in The Two Towers. She hadn't liked it, and Jack didn't like it. He caressed his face, and that female angel's hand kept drawing the circles tighter and tighter and he knew she was getting closer to his nipple.

What was the point of all this? What did they want from him? How could he help them if he was restrained like this?

"I thought you wanted my help," he told them, not understanding why it was more difficult to make his voice leave him. And why did his voice sound a tad lower? Was there something wrong with him?

"You'll be helping very shortly," a woman told him, the same one who had told him about the wardings a minute and fifty seven seconds ago.

"Then what is this?" he asked. He gasped when the woman touching his chest got to his nipple and it felt… good. He thought maybe it felt good. He didn't know. It was a new feeling. She pinched it with her fingers as Nathaniel and the other angel still felt him over. "Are you preparing me for something?"

"Yes," another woman answered, her voice higher and maybe more pleasant to listen to than the other's.

A woman, maybe the same one who had just spoken placed her hands on his calves, and he jerked from the unexpected touch.

Jack felt trapped, confused, angry.

He didn't want them to touch him. It was beginning to feel threatening, like they might start hurting him at any second.

He let out a shout, and he felt energy burst from him. Without knowing where the bad guys were he simply directed the energy outwards, knowing it would hurt them. He wanted to hurt them. They deserved it.

The energy never left him.

It turned inwards.

Crushing heat was searing his insides, force and pressure placing itself upon every part of him down to his bones. It ripped him apart, and his shackles were white hot against his skin.

The pain was so great he no longer understood what was happening. The hands on him were gentle, yet still stifling, but they were nothing compared to how much he hurt. It grew and grew till he was crying, wishing he didn't exist. He had to fight whoever was doing this to him. He had to. But he couldn't fight. The more he fought, the more he hurt.

His body was convulsing, he couldn't breathe. Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong.

He heard yelling over his own screams and sobs, the voices becoming louder till they were screeching and cutting inside his head. The torment in his body stopped, yet the pain from the angelic voices remained.

It died down, and through his haze he realized hands were still on him, and he heard Cael say, "He didn't damage himself, did he?"

A hand pressed against his forehead, and were Jack not so exhausted, he would have thrashed, growling at that touch.

He felt something, like eyes were roaming over him, except the feeling was inside.

"Only his wrists and ankles are hurt," Nathaniel reported. "He burned them."

There was a sharp slap to his face, and he cried out, though it hurt far less than what he had experienced before.

"I told you not to use your powers!" Nathaniel hissed. "What if you hurt yourself?"

Now understanding what had happened, heat flooded Jack's cheeks, and the one that Nathaniel slapped seemed to sting even more. He'd hit him hard. He was surprised he wasn't bleeding.

"But I did hurt myself," he said hesitantly, realizing that his ankles and wrists stung viciously from what he had attempted to do. Why did he still feel that pain? Why wasn't he healing? Was it because of the wardings? He didn't like it.

He hadn't really meant to do it.

It had just happened.

"I mean, seriously hurt yourself. We need you to be in one piece."

"Stop talking to the Nephilim, Nathaniel," Cael ordered. "Someone heal him so we can get on with it. Being in his presence disgusts me."

"If he disgusts you then you need no part in it," the woman with the more pleasant voice said. From her voice alone Jack almost felt inclined to like her. But he couldn't.

"I want to make sure this venture succeeds, Laila. There are too few of us left."

As Cael and Laila continued talking, Jack not understanding what was going on, he felt energy going into him, clear, and purifying. The stinging and burning in his wrists and ankles lessened till it was completely gone.

It bothered him that that hadn't naturally happened on its own like any wound that had been inflicted on him before. Did that mean his healing was part of his powers, something instinctual?

It didn't feel right that he wasn't able to do that now, didn't have access to it.

By then Cael was saying something, that, judging by his tone, was insulting, but he didn't know what he meant when he used the word mounting. How could such a thing be used negatively in connection with Laila? It was in connection with him as well. He knew what the word meant, but it didn't seem like they were using it in the right way.

As the conversation progressed, Jack really didn't like that Cael kept calling him Nephilim instead of his actual name.

Nathaniel made both of them stop talking. Tension hung heavy in the silence, and the hands were stroking him again. The woman who he guessed wasn't Laila was now pinching and tugging lightly on both of his nipples, making them harden. Laila ran her hands up to his thighs, and heat fluttered in Jack's stomach when she stroked the inside of them. He didn't understand why that was happening. What did it mean? Did his body not like this? But… it felt good. Why were the angels making him feel good?

Soon, the stimulation to his nipples had trails of heat traveling down in between his legs. Laila's hands went to his hips now, and Nathaniel was being gentle with his hair, his face, and his neck, his touch nearly tickling him.

He felt pressure in between his legs, and heat, and it was nearly like something thick and lovely was coursing through his blood.

Were they using their powers on him?

His pulse quickened, his breathing fast and shallow. Jack didn't know what was happening to his body.

Laila's touch seemed hesitant as she grasped him in between his legs, yet it was still unlike anything Jack had experienced before. A long breath with his voice in it left him as his hips arched up into her small hand. The other angel stopped touching his nipples and began to run her hands all over his torso. Jack tilted his head back, dull fear throbbing threw him as he realized that exposed his neck more for Nathaniel to touch.

What if he started choking him?

But he hadn't done so yet, so maybe he wouldn't.

The hands on him were being good to him.

Laila seemed to grow more confident, her hand pumping him. He was hardening, and he didn't know why, hadn't known that was possible. It was frightening. Or maybe the fact that these angels had made it happen was frightening. Was it natural? Was what they were doing natural? Did humans engage in activities like this? If so, why hadn't his family told him?

But… maybe they didn't.

It hadn't been in any of what Sam had showed him.

And Jack realized he didn't like who was making him feel good. Something was off about it that he didn't know how to process.

It was too much.

The hands on him were too much. They lit up his body, making him want more and more of their touch, especially Laila's. If he didn't know any better he'd say he felt like he was burning. And maybe he was burning, but in a good way. Was that even possible? He felt hot, and something about Laila touching him in between his legs seemed to sear his nerves.

Jack moaned when her grip tightened, and one of the angel's was twisting his nipples now. It nearly hurt, but not quite. It seemed to send a jolt of sensation down to where Laila was pumping him.

He shuddered when another set of hands joined the mix. They ran up his legs and then down again, slowly repeating the motion.

Something wet and warm was around one of his nipples, making him jump and let out a soft cry. And then he felt something similar in between his legs, and he found himself arching into it as surprise jolted through him.

There was… something. A tongue, lips.

Mouths. Mouths were on him.

Why were they putting their mouths on him? He'd only seen humans really do such a thing with kissing.

But this was different.

The mouths and hands worked him up till he wanted to break free of his restraints to escape it all and maybe to hold onto something. He felt like he was losing himself. It made another tear fall, the blindfold soaking it up.

Was this torture? Were they torturing him?

No. He didn't hurt, but it felt like he nearly did. How was such a thing possible?

Laila's touch left him and then he felt smooth, feminine legs on either side of him. His stomach quivered for some reason. And then he was pressed against a body, and he was somehow impaling part of Laila. She was tight and soft and wet and so hot. Jack shuddered and his body arched up into her as he nearly screamed. Leila's voice was leaving her too.

Was Jack hurting her somehow?

Good.

He wanted to hurt her.

He didn't like this pleasure, though his body did. The fact that his body did was why he didn't like it. It felt like it was betraying him somehow.

But if he could hurt at least one angel then that was good.

So he thrust his hips upward as much as he could till he felt himself flush against her. He wanted to grab her so he could hold her to him to hurt her.

She shuddered, tightening her legs around him, and some sort of surprised, and maybe pained, sound left her.

Jack hated his body for acting in the way it did as he kept pushing up into her, screaming as he tried to use as much force as possible. He was burning. Oh, he was burning so much.

But if they were torturing him, then he was going to try and torture one of them. He wouldn't be helpless.

Laila's nails scraped his chest, making Jack growl and nearly try lashing out with his powers again. Laila's voice left her in high-pitched moans and whimpers, and then she said something in a language Jack didn't understand.

There were more voices in that language. They sounded angry.

She spoke again, pleading.

Then there were strong hands on his abdomen and legs, holding him down. Jack writhed against them, tension settling in his nerves as he was unsuccessful in freeing himself even a little. He couldn't move, meaning he couldn't hurt Laila anymore. His body seemed to throb, and there was a tiny electric spark that seemed to go in between his legs.

He started wanting her to get on with it. By now he thought he was aching. It was hard to tell.

Another voice: Cael. He was impatient.

Then a woman spoke, soothing.

He thought Nathaniel might've said something too, his voice quieter.

Laila seemed to relax above him and then she began bouncing herself on him. Jack moaned as it granted him with similar sensations as before. They were more gentle now, maybe less gratifying.

There was pressure building in him, white and hot and feeling like it needed to be released. Whatever it was he wanted it out of him. It was growing to be too much, and he was straining against the hands caressing him, the hands holding him down, against Laila's hot, still-moving body, against his shackles. He just needed release.

His body was tensing more and more until there were a few seconds where he felt he was absolutely going to lose his mind. Something burst through him, up from his toes, in between his legs, and then it pulsed outwards, and each pulse had him seeing blinding light, even in the darkness that enshrouded him. He felt good. He felt really, really good. So good he thought that maybe it hurt.

Laila stopped moving, waited out whatever was happening to him.

The hands didn't cease their feeling of his body, and he desperately wanted them to. The light sheen of sweat on his skin didn't seem to deter them.

The angels were talking again, but he was too tired to listen to what they were saying, though he recognized a few words in English now. Words like successful and hope and continue.

Laila was getting off of him, and he was grateful. Now if they would stop touching him he could catch his breath and relax.

He thought he might've heard the door open, but before he could pay much attention to that, another hand was touching him in between his legs.

It hurt.

It hurt a lot.

Jack thrashed and began begging, "Please, stop! Just let me go. I'll help you! I swear I'll help you! Just don't - agh - touch me anymore!"

He felt weak for having those words leave his mouth, figured that Sam, Dean, or Castiel wouldn't be crying and pleading like this. They would endure. Jack supposed he wasn't as strong as them. He was weak, and fear of pain, of suffering, could lead to the dark side as he'd seen with Anakin. But he didn't like Anakin. He didn't want to be like him. Not at all. But maybe he was. Maybe this weakness was bad.

He hated it, and he felt ashamed.

But he just wanted them to stop. Even if only whoever was touching him in between his legs stopped, he would be happy.

He was wet from being inside Laila, something he didn't understand, and it seemed like liquid fire with the hand stroking him. Another hand, from the same angel, went lower and squeezed.

"Stop! Stop, ple-ease! I'll… I'll do whatever you want!"

But it didn't stop. It didn't! And he couldn't take it anymore.

Jack screamed, and like before, he tried to attack the angels.

Pain engulfed him.

His head felt like it was going to burst, and the pain crushing his body left, but still there was that agony in between his legs. It traveled up to his stomach as sharp stabs, as ruining flares of heat. The angels stopped speaking over angel radio, and Nathaniel was still caressing his face, making shushing noises as Jack trembled.

"The pain will stop soon," he promised.

"H-how do you know?" Jack got out, his voice breathy and uneven.

Nathaniel didn't answer him.

The pain seemed to die down, and Jack relaxed a little, letting out a relieved breath. But then he felt blood rush down in between his legs again. It happened so quickly he grew a bit light-headed. Delicious heat flashed through his body.

He wanted to relax, wanted this all to stop so he could close his eyes and get some real sleep, not just the sleep being knocked unconscious had forced upon him.

But soon another angel was on him, and he was in her as well.

The angels knew to hold him down this time, and Jack poured his frustration into his voice. He wanted to hurt her. He wanted to hurt all of them, even Nathaniel with his deceptively gentle hands.

One of those hands drew close to his mouth, till a finger was passing over his lips, making his already sensitive body tingle. Amidst the overwhelming sensations taking over his brain, he found himself quickly grabbing his finger and biting down as hard as he could.

Everything stopped, even the angel on him ceased her movements, her voice no longer leaving her. There was a cry that wasn't from him this time, and it felt good. A hot liquid was in his mouth. It was metallic, but almost… sweet. He didn't dislike the taste, maybe even enjoyed it.

More filled his mouth and he realized he did like it.

Why did he like angel blood?

Did that make him bad?

Maybe it was something he inherited from his father.

Even if it wasn't something he enjoyed he still wouldn't have let go of Nathaniel's finger.

That…

That…

Jack realized he didn't have a word to properly convey his hatred for Nathaniel.

What would Dean call him?

A son of a bitch!

That's what he was! He didn't know what those words meant, but he'd heard Dean call people them in anger, so they must be really bad.

Good.

That son of a bitch deserved it.

Even when the angels started talking on angel radio he didn't let go.

A strong hand was on his jaw, the grip growing tighter, and tighter, surely bruising his skin.

He fought it, keeping his mouth closed as tightly as he could, teeth digging deeper till they hit bone, more blood pulsing into his mouth.

Amidst all this struggling, he began softening in between his legs, and it felt odd still being inside that other woman. She seemed to notice, and then her insides were rhythmically tightening around him. Oh, that felt good.

He growled around the finger in his mouth, tried getting away from the hand on his jaw.

There was an audible crack, and pain lanced through his face.

He couldn't hold on anymore.

His mouth opened and amidst the pain, he didn't remember to swallow, and he found himself choking on angel blood as Nathaniel's finger left his mouth. It dripped on his face as he drew it away. Before Jack could instinctively lash out, his head was being hammered at from the inside. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt!

His face hurt.

He tried to tell them, slurring out through his tears once he caught his breath, "It hurts!"

No one healed him this time, and though he hated them, he wanted them to. He wanted it to heal all on its own like it should've. But it never did.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!

The angel on top of him forced him to stay hard in between his legs, and he found himself drowning in pleasure and pain, soon getting the two confused.

They were angry with him. He could tell. They were all angry with him.

With each second he felt heat building up in him, he wanted it to be released in that overwhelming burst like before so it would be over. He just wanted it to be over.

Finally, with the angels renewing their tender strokes, which felt more forced than they had earlier, he did reach that blinding, searing end.

The ringing notes in his head heightened with excitement. They seemed pleased with him, or pleased with whatever this resulted in.

It felt like something was leaving him.

But he didn't feel like he was losing something. It was something that felt like it needed to be released.

In a few seconds, his body relaxed, and a few of the angels were patting his tired body in appreciation. It made him jump.

As he caught his breath, the angel got off of him, and then his stomach clenched, fearing more. Nathaniel's hand, which was now healed and sticky with blood, touched his jaw.

Jack turned his head away, but his hand followed.

He healed him.

The angels ceased their assault of his head, their hands leaving his body.

He lay there panting, covered in sweat, blood smeared across his lips and part of his face.

"I say we keep going," Cael said.

"No! No!" Jack shouted.

Now it was Cael who slapped him.

"You will remain silent, Nephilim!"

Not knowing what else to do, and much too worn out to put up a fight, Jack nodded obediently.

"Cael, he's done," another woman said.

"We've done our research. We all know there are ways to make his body cooperate further."

"No. He needs to rest," another voice argued, this one male. "Besides, we don't even know if today was successful."

There was silence. Maybe other angels were nodding, or perhaps shaking their heads.

"Fine," Cael breathed.

Nathaniel ruffled his hair, an action he'd seen Dean affectionately do to Sam, and he hated it.

There were footsteps, the door opening, then closing, the majority of the angels surely leaving. The blindfold was finally pulled off of his eyes, and when he was no longer blinded by the glaring light and the white of the room, he saw that only Nathaniel remained.

Jack ignored him, withdrew inside himself.

Even though he was no longer in physical pain, one thought remained, and it seemed to be playing on loop in varying tones and speeds and intensities.

It hurts.

* * *

 **A/N: If you're wondering, I headcanon that Jack would like angel blood because Lucifer seems to have shown a liking for it.**


	4. Numb

They'd been on the road for awhile when Castiel could hear angel radio, the voices of his brethren loud in his ears. He'd been keeping track of it, trying to figure out what they were up to, but they hadn't said much. In fact, they'd been talking nonsense, almost as if they wanted to keep him from knowing what they were doing, but still had the need to use angel radio in such a way. But now they were loud, excited, their words perfectly clear in Enochian, their angelic voices not matching up with the disturbing words that he was sure would make him feel sick to his stomach were he human. But something still came over him, a tight pressure inside of him, in his chest and his stomach, in his throat, in his head. His hands were shaking, and it was like his vision was out of focus. Not blurry, per se, but what was in front of him no longer seemed important. A disgusting image that made the corners of his eyes sting took over his focus, and in it Jack's mouth was open in a scream.

Castiel might have cried out as he suddenly leaned forward, reaching out for Sam and Dean, needing to grasp them, feeling like he was falling.

Sam turned to him, frantically asking, "Cas, what's wrong?"

Dean pulled over, and Castiel instantly shouted at him, "No! Get back on the road. And hurry. We have to get to Jack."

Dean didn't do as he said, but Castiel felt like he was being crushed, so he couldn't even glare at him.

"Cas, take a breath," Dean told him. "What's going on?"

"There's no _time_."

His heart beat furiously in those few seconds that Dean tried to make sense of what might be going on, on the urgency of the situation, and Cas wanted to scream. But he got back on the road, the Impala moving faster than before.

"The angels… They're…"

Castiel couldn't go on, swallowed roughly.

He didn't really understand their reasons. Maybe there were less angels left alive than he'd thought, but he knew they were desperate. To think they were _that_ desperate was terrifying. The lengths they were apparently willing to go to…

What they were doing was tarnishing one of the fundamental roles given to them by God. They were supposed to be _good_ , but now…

Were it before the Apocalypse they would've surely been cast out of Heaven. Their actions mimicked those of Lucifer, of what he'd done to Kelly, and knowing the evil of his older brother, Kelly hadn't been the first.

"You know what they're doing?" Sam asked quickly, straightening in his seat, still looking in his direction. Castiel tried to focus on his hazel eyes, even through the angelic voices speaking of hellish things ringing in his head. It helped ground him, and his grip on his friends lessened before he slid his hands off of them.

"The angels are trying to use Jack to make _more_ angels."

For a while the only sound was the rumble of the Impala's engine, and then Dean stepped on the gas. Castiel was glad the road they were on for now was empty. He didn't want anything hindering them.

If only his wings weren't still broken and useless.

If only he could get to Jack.

If only he could've gotten to him before.

He must be so scared, so confused, so _hurt_.

Just thinking about all this was making his vision blur with unshed tears. He'd bonded with Jack even before he was born, had been brought back by him, had stayed up and spoken to him about God, about the world, about Sam and Dean, and the good things about humanity. He was his son.

And he was being used in a disgusting way by beings who should know better, by beings who were supposedly grounded in consent.

"M-more angels?" Sam asked.

Though he was questioning the situation, Castiel could already see something dark and haunted in his eyes, and his friend knew exactly what was being done to Jack. He just didn't want to believe it, was hoping that Castiel wouldn't explain further, would maybe even negate him or say he'd been kidding. He didn't want to believe it.

Castiel didn't want to believe it.

He didn't want to say it either.

It would only deepen his horror and his pain and his need to get to his son.

But he did:

"Yes. Apparently they think that his seed has the right properties to impregnate angels in female vessels."

He'd said the words without focusing on them, pretending to ignore their meaning.

Was it Castiel's imagination or was Sam's face turning green?

He faced forward again and said in a rough voice, "Dean, pull over."

"No, Dean, don't pull over," Cas argued forcefully.

Sam gripped Dean's sleeve, and his brother turned to him. Some silent form of communication passed between them, and Castiel now understood the situation and felt bad he had said something that went against what Sam needed.

Dean hurriedly pulled over, spraying up dirt on the side of the road, and Sam instantly opened the door, and he got out of the car, stumbling a few feet. Castiel heard him being sick.

Dean worriedly bit his bottom lip, and Castiel found himself holding his breath. He felt bad for Sam, but he hated that they'd had to stop. And then he hated himself for thinking like that.

"Why aren't you puking, Dean?" he questioned.

He shrugged, his eyes still on Sam, who was leaning over with his hands on his knees.

"Dealt with a lot of evil before," he guessed. "And I've always had a stronger stomach outta the two of us."

Castiel quickly searched through his memories and realized Dean's last statement wasn't true, but he'd learned that humans would say just about anything to try and compartmentalize things and make sense of them.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean called.

"Just give me a minute."

He hated himself again as he thought, _We don't have a minute._

Castiel got out of the Impala, and went over to Sam, ignoring the sour smell and the substance on the ground. His friend was taking very forceful deep breaths, his legs shaking.

"If you're sick, I can heal you," he offered.

He just wanted to go ahead and heal Sam without his permission, knew it would take less time, but Sam had been wronged by angels in the past, so he was hesitant to do that to him.

"I'm not sick," he answered gruffly.

Castiel didn't think he was lying, but he didn't understand either. Humans were complicated beings.

Sam straightened after about a minute, and Castiel's impatience had grown during that time. The angels were still talking, and he was able to gather that Jack was now in pain for some reason.

"I think I'm good now," Sam told him.

"I'll check you over once we're in the car."

Sam shook his head, and walked back over to the open passenger side door.

"Trust me, you won't find anything."

Once they were both back in, Dean started driving again, and Cas looked out the window, wishing that the distance between him and his son would close even faster.

It didn't matter that Jack's true father was an archangel. It didn't matter that he was one of the most powerful beings in existence, aside from God and the Darkness. He still had a part of him that was human. He still had his own thoughts and feelings and agency, and from what Dean had told him of his suicide attempt when he was only a few days old, he had a capacity for pain.

Jack was being raped, and they hadn't been able to keep that from happening to him.

The angels were raping his son.

* * *

"I'm going to let you out of your shackles," Nathaniel began, his voice now something very irritating that made Jack suddenly think of strangling him, "but only if you promise to not hurt me."

Jack knew he could lie, but he didn't want to. Instead, he said, his voice sounding very far away for some reason, like the words leaving him weren't his own, "But I want to hurt you."

"You hurt me and I'll hurt you. Is that understood?"

Jack nodded.

That wasn't him agreeing to Nathaniel's terms though. It was simply an affirmation that he did understand his words.

If Jack hurt Nathaniel enough then he couldn't hurt him.

But the other angels were watching him. They had to be.

They would surely hurt him too.

He didn't want that.

It wasn't worth it.

Nathaniel drew a key from his pocket, seeming to have difficulty from it due to the blood on his left hand. Jack watched him intently, deciding that if he touched him again he would attack him.

"You don't have to watch me like that," Nathaniel said as he worked on the last shackle. "We're done with you for now."

"Why?"

"You did your job."

"And what job was that?"

Nathaniel looked nervously around the room, as Jack sat up, wiping at the blood on his face. Before he could think about it, his bloodied finger entered his mouth and he sucked on it. Maybe it was the action, or maybe it was the taste, but he felt a small sense of comfort from it.

He smelled nervousness from Nathaniel after he did that. It wasn't there as much as it would be with a human, even smelled a little different, but he still recognized it as the same emotion. Angels still seemed to experience emotions despite their insistence that they didn't. They did, the same ones as humans, just a different flavor of them.

They seemed to naturally repress them, unlike his father Castiel who had grown in touch with them, had learned the value of them.

And now Jack felt out of touch with his, and he didn't know why.

They were there.

But they weren't.

Numb.

He was numb.

Nathaniel didn't answer him, instead asked, "Could you please not do that?"

"I like it," Jack simply explained once he pulled his finger from his mouth.

He swiped at the blood he felt as sticky, dying warmth on his face, and then made to lick it from his finger.

Nathaniel, who had finished freeing him from those evil restraints, grabbed his wrist, impeding his movement.

Jack just looked at him, feeling a mix of frustration, anger, confusion, and hurt, but it lay beneath something. Like there was a blanket keeping him from it all.

His eyes must have glowed gold as his family had told him happened when he used his powers because the angel instantly let go, raising his hands in a peaceful gesture.

Though he had backed off, Jack realized it would be unwise to provoke him, and he might have to lash out next time Nathaniel threatened him, so instead of licking the blood as he wished, he lowered his hand to his lap.

Jack got up, making Nathaniel back away from him, and he looked around for his clothes. They weren't in the room. Nothing was in the room besides the bed and the chains that had held him to it and the blindfold which was just a black slip of cloth.

"Where are my clothes?" he asked.

He wasn't as bothered with his nudity as he thought some humans might be, but he had the strangest feeling that Nathaniel was going to touch him again, and he realized he didn't want that.

The thought seemed a stupid one to him since Nathaniel had said he wouldn't. But why wouldn't he? What was stopping him? What had made him do it before?

"Jack, just sit down. I'll go get them. I have to clean you up, too."

Jack did as he said, and looked at his skin which still had sweat on it, and then he looked in between his legs, where he was red. He was confused by that. What had they done to him?

All he really wanted to do was go to sleep, but he didn't trust that when he knew Nathaniel would be coming back soon.

He spent a few minutes, alone, in which he tried to make sense of what had happened. They'd hurt him, but they'd made him feel good. Really good. He didn't get it. Why had they done that? How had that been him helping? They weren't supposed to make him feel good. He didn't like that they'd touched him without his permission. He'd wanted them to stop and they hadn't.

Angels were evil.

They had to be.

So why was Nathaniel being nice to him now? Why was he getting his clothes for him? Why was he going to clean him up?

Jack thought he understood why Nathaniel had been nice to him before. It was to trick him, to make him feel safe.

To make him easy to capture.

Being a prisoner was much more confusing than it was made out to be in the movies.

But…

Characters in the movies he'd seen hadn't been touched like that while they were prisoners.

So maybe it wasn't a bad thing.

But it felt like it had been. Sort of.

With Nathaniel gone he started wiping the blood off of his face and licking it from his fingers, not really bothered at the moment from who it came from. He knew blood was supposed to be something dirty, but angel blood didn't seem that way. It tasted good. He liked it.

The angel came back in as he was doing that, and a sort of tension seemed to arise from him. He didn't say anything though. Still, Jack stopped, not wanting to make his captor angry.

Nathaniel was carrying a basin of water and there was a cloth on his arm. His clothes were draped over his left shoulder.

Jack got up, wanting to grab his clothes, and Nathaniel took a step back.

"Just stay there," he told him.

He went and put the basin down on the bed, doing the same with his clothes, and he kept his eyes on him. Nathaniel dipped the white cloth in the water before coming closer to him. Jack took in a deep breath and forced himself to remain still as Nathaniel took hold of his jaw and started cleaning his face.

When he let go, Jack informed him, "I can clean myself."

"The other angels don't trust you to do anything to cooperate, so they've asked me to do it," he explained.

"Why did you touch me before?" Jack asked as Nathaniel continued to clean him.

He was beginning to feel numb, his mind successfully ignoring wherever the wet cloth was touching him.

Nathaniel simply said, "I had to."

"Why did the other angels touch me?"

"They had to."

"I don't understand."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Nathaniel replied. "You're young."

Just as he finished up and handed him his clothes to put back on, another angel came, her long, dark hair settling about her shoulders. Her sudden presence startled Jack. Her green eyes and kind face held discontent, and something else that frightened Jack. He didn't know what it was though.

"It didn't work," she said.

Laila.

Heat flared through him, and he felt a bit sick.

Nathaniel looked to Jack worriedly for some reason, then at Laila.

"You're not supposed to be in here." He then spoke in that other language again, and Laila glanced at the blindfold that was on the bed.

Was he not supposed to see Laila? Did the angels not want him to see their faces so he couldn't identify who was touching him, who was hurting him? It was smart, a safety precaution so he couldn't single any of them out. But he knew three of them, and he knew what those specific three angels had done to him. He didn't know who had hurt him after Laila had been on him, but he wanted to find out. He didn't want his enemies to be some faceless terror in his mind.

Laila ignored Nathaniel's switch to the other language and said, "We need more from him."

"He's not ready," he argued.

Jack didn't like that they were talking about him like he wasn't there, like his own thoughts didn't matter, so he said, "I don't want to give you anything."

Laila's gaze snapped to him and she went over to him with such confidence that Jack nearly backed away.

"You already did," she said, "and that failed."

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

He nearly said he'd try harder next time, but he didn't want there to be a next time.

Her gaze still locked on him, she said, "Nathaniel, blindfold him."

"Are these orders coming from someone higher up?" he asked, but was still doing as she'd said, grabbing the blindfold.

Jack started finding it hard to breathe, and he backed up against the wall, clutching his clothes.

"No. No, you don't have to do this."

"We do. But you can put your clothes on."

He could? Then what were they going to do to him?

Still, Jack got dressed, hating that Nathaniel and Laila were watching him like he was less than them. He could see it in their eyes. It wasn't new to him. In Denver he'd been looked at in such a way many times.

He wanted to use his powers, but was worried that that would get him hurt again, so when Nathaniel came up to him once he was finished dressing, he did nothing, just gave him a pleading look.

Nathaniel's face was cold and nearly emotionless as he ignored him, grabbing Jack's head and leaning him forward so he could put the blindfold on him again.

"He has to be gagged this time, too. Cael doesn't like it when he talks."

There was a rustling sound, some movement, and then something was being shoved into his mouth before being tied around his head. He tried to say something in protest, but only a muffled sound came out.

Nathaniel grabbed him, and Jack guessed he was directing him to the bed, but Laila stopped him by saying, "We're taking him to one of Naomi's old rooms."

Naomi? Who was Naomi? Why did he suddenly smell small hints of fear from Nathaniel? He smelled it from Laila, too.

It was gone in a second.

He heard heavy clinks of metal, and then his wrists were shackled, a chain in between them. The same was being done to his ankles.

Now he knew he couldn't fight.

His heart rate sped up as he was led out of the room. And then he didn't know where he was going. There were twists and turns. A lot of them.

He thought he might have been forced into a room, and then Nathaniel was shoving him down into a chair that he him lying back. The shackles were still on him, but now more metal cuffs were being placed on his wrists.

He didn't know why he was letting this happen to him.

Was he letting it happen to him?

Was it his fault?

Was he weak?

Why was he so scared, but so numb?

What were they going to do to him?

Would it hurt?

He sensed more angels enter the room, heard movement, a slight clattering sound as something was placed down.

Nathaniel held his head in place.

Something sharp and metallic pressed against his head.

The numbness left him as his skin broke.

It penetrated his skull and he started screaming, his voice muffled by the gag.

* * *

 **A/N: I know this leaves off on a cliffhanger, but this might be the last update for awhile. I haven't found the motivation to write the next part just yet, but it'll come to me eventually.**


	5. Mommy

**TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of self harm and attempted suicide.**

* * *

Jack instinctively tried reaching for his powers as what felt like a metal spike dug deeper into his head, into his brain. It hurt so badly that his thoughts stopped, no sentences forming. There was just the muffled screaming leaving his mouth and tears running down his cheeks, and the screaming that had taken over his head. His powers rose up in him, and they released, but only to attack him, the shackles confining them within his body. His wrists and ankles burned, and it felt like he was being crushed as his head was stabbed into. Emotions flitted across his understanding: pain, fear, guilt, regret, shame, joy, love, comfort. It didn't make sense, none of it made sense. It was like they were stabbing and swelling in him, coming up randomly, and sometimes he saw a face with them, like Sam, or Castiel, or Dean, or the people who had glared at him in Denver, refusing to help him. He saw Asmodeus, he saw the hands of the Shedim with their wickedly sharp claws, he saw into the depths of Hell, he saw his friends choking, he saw Dean pull a gun on him for startling him from sleep, he saw his family smiling at him, he saw Kelly, a face in the computer screen, crying, both sad and happy.

 _Mom_.

Jack wanted his mom.

" _I love you, Jack. I love you so much._ "

His need to fight back diminished as her smiling, warm face remained fixed in his mind's eye, and he relaxed back against the seat. He could hardly feel the spike in his head, could hardly feel Nathaniel's hands holding him steady, and since he was no longer fighting, that crushing, tearing sensation inside his body was gone, leaving only the burns on his wrists and ankles.

The image of the video was gone, and then he was in Mia's office, and the shapeshifter was now his mom, and she was hugging him as he cried. The memory made his chest hurt.

" _Jack, it doesn't matter what you are. It matters what you do. And even monsters can do good in this world._ "

Monster.

Was Jack a monster?

Were the angels monsters?

Then he was left screaming again, ripped from the memory, ripped from his mom - a flash of her dead body lying in the bed, the sheet covering her face, Sam's sturdy presence at his side - and then he saw glowing red eyes, and his heart sank.

Agony.

He was in agony.

Another spike was being put in his head, and he didn't know _why_.

 _Why, why, why, why, why?_

Stop. He wanted them to stop. They had to stop. He wanted his mom back.

Why couldn't they give him his mom back?

Voices attacked his head even before his powers could rise up, and they dug into him just like the spikes, and Jack was shaking all over.

What were they doing to him?

Maybe they were talking to each other. He couldn't be sure. He couldn't hear over his own screams, over their own yelling in his head.

Blood was getting in his hair, running down his scalp, the left side of his face.

More memories, more torment, more fear, more guilt.

An angel stabbing him while he was trapped inside a prison cell, Jack stabbing himself over and over again hoping he would die, and growing more and more terrified of what he was as each wound healed.

But now the wounds in his head weren't healing. He wasn't healing, and he was hurting, and he wanted to stop hurting.

Mom. He wanted his mom.

She was dead.

Because of him.

He'd killed his mom.

He hadn't meant to.

 _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

He wanted to tell the angels he was sorry.

He didn't know what he'd done wrong.

Why were they angry?

Why was he their prisoner?

What had they done to him before?

Another spike. More blood. More sharp flares that burrowed deeper and deeper.

Were they searching for something?

What were they searching for?

Then Jack felt something _alive_ in him, in every part of him, and he could no longer scream, couldn't even breathe. There was just that feeling. It was buzzing and vibrating and singing and shouting. Him. It was him, his essence, his soul, his Grace. That's what it had to be.

Red glowing eyes staring at him out of the darkness.

Sea green eyes awash in love looking out at him from a computer screen.

His parents. One a bad guy, and one good. One an archangel, and one human.

And Jack. Jack was both. He had capacity for both.

Power. He had power.

But the angels were taking that power from him.

Voices, speaking in that language he couldn't understand. He recognized Cael's voice, recognized Nathaniel's, and Laila's. All the others he'd heard before, but he couldn't picture faces. They were shadows in his memories, shadows that terrified him.

Jack didn't want to be afraid of the shadows, afraid of the dark.

Weren't angels supposed to be the light?

" _You have an angel watching over you._ "

Castiel.

He wanted Castiel.

Wanted his dad.

Wanted Sam.

Wanted Dean.

Wanted his family.

They were the light. He didn't know where else light was supposed to be.

In humanity? He didn't see it. In angels? No.

His family. His family was the light.

And they weren't here, they weren't here!

Jack heard a loud whirring noise, like a machine had been turned on and something was spinning at a rapid pace. It grew closer and closer to him, but he couldn't move. In his mind that whirring was something that was going to hurt him. He wondered who held the whirring thing.

Sheer agony flashed against his skull, just above his right ear. More tears, more screaming, more blood. He fought with his powers, fought all he could, even with his mind being breached by the overwhelming voices of the angels, even with his awful restraints.

It brought him nothing but pain.

Mom again. And then she was fading, as if he could no longer remember her face or her voice. Jack tried to mentally reach out for her, but she was fading fast as the pain grew.

It was like there was a dense fog collecting over her face, her figure, distorting her voice as she tried to speak through it.

Then there was nothing but the stabbing and drilling in his skull.

Then Nathaniel. His face. His voice.

Light.

He was the light.

Something about that didn't seem right.

No, it wasn't right. It wasn't right!

Not Nathaniel. Not him, not him!

Not any of the angels.

Bad guys. The angels were the bad guys!

They were hurting him. He was their prisoner. They weren't the light.

But who was?

Mom. Who was his mom?

 _Mom!_

He couldn't find her. He couldn't find his mom. Jack had lost his mom.

 _Mommy…_

Deeper and deeper the drill went, and it grew harder and harder to even remember that he'd had a mom. But he knew he did. It only made sense. Right? Who was she? What did she look like? What did she sound like? Was she good? Was she bad? Was she human?

Humans. Jack didn't like humans.

He liked angels.

No, no. He didn't like angels.

Angels. Angels were… good. Angels were good.

They needed him. They needed Jack to help them.

Jack wanted to help them.

But his family…

Sam, and Dean were fading. Humans, they were just humans. Their faces didn't matter, their voices didn't matter, his memories of them didn't matter.

Humans didn't matter.

Angels did.

But Castiel…

Castiel was an angel.

Was Castiel good? He was with the bad humans.

Castiel was bad. The only bad angel.

The rest were good, the ones in Heaven.

Heaven needed him.

Another spike, and this time Jack didn't care. He cried 'cause it hurt, but he didn't mind. The angels were doing what they had to do, and Jack would cooperate.

He wanted to cooperate.

He stopped fighting, and he gasped from the amount of relief that flooded him from it. He was no longer breaking. The voices in his head left. The drill was pulled out. The spikes were being pulled out, blood flowing more freely into his hair, making it sticky. Some of it was on his neck now.

The gag was taken out of his mouth, but the blindfold still remained covering his eyes so that he stared out into black.

"Jack, are you going to cooperate?" a voice asked him.

"Yes," he answered, even as some other word seemed to want to come from his mouth, but what that word was, he didn't know.

"Good. That's good."

Jack smiled.

* * *

Nathaniel slowly took his hands off of Jack's head, glad that they were done with all that nasty business. While it had been satisfying to hear him scream, to watch as he'd cried, he didn't want to take things further than necessary. Everything they were doing was for practical reasons. If they went beyond that they'd be more like Jack's sire.

"May I heal him?" Nathaniel asked in Enochian, not wanting Jack to know what was being discussed. However, it might not matter much now if they'd gauged their progress correctly. Jack was under their control, at least for now.

Cael, the angel who had directed the operation was leaning down and looking at the wounds in Jack's head, which were bleeding profusely as the Nephilim sat there, relaxed, with a small smile on his face. It was unnerving.

"I'm worried healing him would change what we've done," the grey-eyed, stern angel eventually answered.

"So we can't let him out of his shackles, either," Ariel, a small, blonde-haired angel responded. She was next on the list to try getting impregnated by Jack, and aside from Nathaniel, she seemed the least worried about touching him. She came over to look at the wounds in the left side of Jack's head. "I could try healing his skull, and his skin. If I avoid his brain-"

"And how are you going to do that?" Cael interrupted.

Ariel crossed her arms, her blue eyes flashing with anger in her round, almost motherly face. "I'm the best healer here and you know it."

So far the other angels in the room had remained silent. They hadn't done much during the operation, had just been there in case something went wrong, and it nearly had a few times.

Cael turned to them, dismissing them with a wave of his hand, and they left the room.

"What about Anael?" Nathaniel suggested. "She could probably do it."

Ariel and Cael directed cold glares in his direction, and he nearly took a step back.

"Anael deserted us," Ariel answered, and there was a slight hint of jealousy in her tone. "Just like you did."

"Yes, but I'm here now," Nathaniel shot back. "And who's been doing most of the work in regards to this project? I found the Nephilim, I got him to trust me, and I brought him here. And what have you done? Nothing."

"I'm going to carry his child, you poor, pathetic excuse for-"

"Ariel, that's enough!" Cael shouted.

She let out a huff, and then addressed both of them. "Why don't you take female vessels for this? Or are you too terrified?"

Nathaniel let out a sigh, and Cael's face suddenly became very hard, like stone, as if he was hiding something. Nathaniel _could_ take a female vessel, but he was attached to this one. He'd do it if need be, though, but Cael, Cael seemed uncomfortable. He probably didn't like the idea of being touched by Jack. Thinking about it did disturb Nathaniel a bit, the fact that he'd have to have Jack inside him, but he was fine with touching him. Jack wasn't dirty like Cael seemed to think he was.

"We can discuss this later," Cael said. "Right now, we need to figure what to do about the Nephilim's head."

"He is part human," Nathaniel began, "so maybe we can use human methods to treat him."

"And what methods would those be?" Ariel asked.

Nathaniel shrugged, an action he'd learned while he'd been among humans during the civil wars that had gone on. "We could take him down to Earth, find someone."

Jack still sat there, bleeding and smiling, as the three of him looked him over.

"But does he really need healing?" Cael asked him. "Surely he won't die from this."

"Since we have just begun altering his mind, we should not mess around with him. He might seem compliant enough, but the pain he's in could work against us," Nathaniel argued. "This is a very delicate situation. Until we operate on him more like this I think perhaps it would be best to proceed with care."

Cael clenched his jaw, observing Jack again, and then he agreed, "Fine. Nathaniel, it'll be your job to care for him. And Ariel, you're with me. We'll be making plans for Grace extraction."

* * *

The blindfold was eventually removed, and Jack was allowed out of his seat. It was just him and Nathaniel in the room now.

He looked down at his shackles, wondering why he still needed them if he was going to cooperate.

"Can you take these off?" he asked Nathaniel, offering up his wrists.

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"We need them."

"For what?"

Nathaniel sighed, as if he didn't like all of Jack's questions, but Jack didn't like that he was being so vague.

"I won't hurt you," Jack assured. "You're the good guys."

"I know you won't."

"Then-"

Nathaniel grabbed his arm and started leading him out of the room. "Look, I can't explain it to you. It's complicated. It'd hinder us."

Hinder. That was a new word to Jack, but he could guess what it meant. Something about all this felt weird as Nathaniel dragged him through the halls, Jack's chains rattling, and he couldn't figure out what it was.

Suddenly, before he could think about what he was saying, he was asking, "Do I have a mom?"

"Of course you do."

"Can I go see her?"

"No, but we are going down to Earth."

"How come?"

"Have to take care of your head."

"But I'm fine. You did it to me. You had to do it to me. So I'm fine," Jack reasoned. Even as he said the words they felt wrong. His head hurt immensely, enough to make him want to sit down and cry. Why was he saying it was fine? Why was he okay with it? The angels had hurt him. Weren't the good guys not supposed to hurt people?

But if they weren't the good guys then that meant they were the bad guys. But that didn't make sense. They were angels. Angels couldn't be the bad guys.

Surely there were other good guys though. Right? Jack tried to think of them, and he saw three figures, but he couldn't make them out. Who were they? Did they love him? Did he love them?

No, Nathaniel loved him.

Nathaniel said nothing, just gave him an odd look. He led him to a room that had a doorway across from it, except there was no door. Instead there was a bright, white light that swirled lazily, almost like mist.

Nathaniel took him through it.

* * *

Dean had been driving for hours, and he was hungry and really had to pee, but he wouldn't stop. They had to get to Heaven's entrance. Sure, he hadn't liked Jack at first, which was an understatement. He'd despised him, feared him. He'd wanted him dead. But now, now was different. Jack had helped them, and despite his mistakes he'd proven that he could be good. And he was wise and childlike all at once, something that sometimes creeped Dean out, but something he'd also grown to find endearing.

And he realized he hadn't hated Jack just because of what he was, or what he'd blamed him for. He'd hated him because he'd needed someone to hate. He'd needed someone to blame for all his grief. For losing Mom, and Castiel, and Crowley.

He didn't think there was a way back for Crowley, but now Castiel was back, and Sam hoped that they could use Jack to find Mom.

That wasn't the only reason he wanted Jack back. He didn't just want to use him. He wanted to work with him, to teach him to be good like Sam had already started. He wanted Castiel to be happy, to have the being he'd chosen as his son to be with him. It wouldn't be fair of Dean to take Jack from him, from either of them, and he didn't want to. Not anymore.

Jack was his family.

He was weird, but really, who wasn't?

"Maybe we should take a break," Sam suggested. "Get some food, figure out a plan."

"What plan?" Castiel asked. "I go in, I get Jack, we go out."

His tone suggested that his mind was only on one thing right now, on saving Jack. He'd been on edge all day ever since they'd found out what the angels were doing, and Dean didn't blame him. He didn't want to stop either, though he really had to, and he knew Sam must be really hungry after throwing up all his breakfast earlier. So Dean wasn't particularly mad at Castiel, but he was annoyed that his friend was forgetting about other things, like basic human needs. Sam and Dean had gone through a lot, but they could only ignore those needs for so long before they'd be in poor fighting condition.

And there would be a fight.

The angels thought they needed Jack, and maybe they did, but what they were doing was wrong, and Jack was being hurt. He needed saving, and they were going to save him. They had to.

Dean didn't know what a world without angels would be like, what Heaven would be like, but the deranged dicks would have to find another way, one that didn't involve violating someone who was too young to even know what was happening to him.

"Cas," Dean said, defending Sam, "he's right. There're gonna be angels guarding Heaven, and it's gonna be hard for you to get to Jack. We need a plan. And food. And I gotta pee or else my bladder's gonna explode, and if that happens you're gonna be the one cleaning it up."

"Alright, yes. Sorry. I'm just… disgusted and anxious."

Sam turned in his seat to properly address their friend. "Look, Cas, we all are. But we have to be smart about this, not just go raging in like I know you want to. We do that and we lose. We don't get Jack."

He faced forward again, and there was silence in the car except for the ticking of the turn signal as Dean made to switch to an exit lane.

He made it onto the exit and then there was complete silence. There were so many unspoken things in that silence, thoughts about what was happening to Jack, questions, trying to understand, worries about the future.

Then Dean eventually spoke, knowing the question he had was probably shared between the three of them, "What do we do after we save him?"

"We talk to him," Sam answered. "We talk to him, and…" He sighed before going on, "we explain what happened to him, what he went through. And then we go from there."

"We might not be equipped for this," Castiel pointed out.

"We'll manage," Sam responded, voice thick with tension.

"And Mom? What about her?" Dean asked. "You think she's still alive. You still want to use the kid as an intergalactic can opener?"

Sam clenched his jaw and turned his head to look out the window.

"Mom's tough. She can handle Lucifer."

Dean glanced at his brother, noticed the way his fingers were anxiously tapping against his leg, at the way his adam's apple was bobbing up and down. He didn't like what he'd said. He might not have even believed what he'd said. And Dean wasn't sure he believed it either.

He remembered how Sam had been after Lucifer, and now, looking at him, his chest started hurting just thinking all that he'd been through. And if their mom was still alive, the thought that she might be going through something similar, made him want to use Jack. But he couldn't. They couldn't use him like that, not after he was getting used now. He had to want to do it.

He had to be _okay_ first.

But he wasn't okay now. He wasn't, so Dean drove just a little faster, even as they were getting to a rest stop, and he was going to keep the break short.

They had to save him. They just had to. He didn't even consider that they might fail.


	6. Home Sweet Home

**A/N: Sorry this chapter took forever to get out. I've been writing many, many other stories, have been in the hospital multiple times due to a myriad of reasons, and had to leave college. So things have been really hectic. The parts of this chapter I showed to my beta reader got really good responses, so I hope you'll enjoy it.**

* * *

Nathaniel had taken a woman in a lab coat hostage, who Jack had a guess was a doctor. She'd stopped struggling upon seeing Jack, upon seeing the blood. With some influence from Nathaniel using his angel blade, the lithe, dark-haired, olive-skinned woman got Jack into a private room in the hospital. Jack didn't like the hospital. It was noisy, with lots of beeping, and crying, too many smells of sick, and hurt, alcohol trying to cover it up. White, so much white, but not like Heaven. Not good white. Bad white.

"H-how is he conscious?" she asked with some slight accent Jack couldn't recognize.

Her hands were on his head as he lay down on the bed, keeping the angel in his vision.

"Doesn't matter. Fix him."

Things were happening, she was moving, there were packages being opened, then pressure against his head.

"Hold this," she ordered, and the angel came over to take her place, keeping the gauze against him secure. It hurt. It hurt so much Jack couldn't speak, but still he didn't cry.

He didn't like the pain, didn't like this room.

But Nathaniel was here. He was going to be okay.

The frantic, confused doctor did a lot of painful things to Jack's head, and he did cry then, chains rattling as he reached out for Nathaniel.

He was denied having his hand held, so he cried even more.

"Mommy!" he found himself shouting. "Mommy! Mommy! _Mo-ommy!_ "

Then there was tape over his mouth to keep him quiet and the doctor was crying as she worked, his blood on her gloved hands.

"I don't know how you expect me to keep him alive," she hissed at Nathaniel. "He needs a brain surgeon."

"Don't worry about his brain," the angel snapped. "Just fix the wounds on the surface, make the pain stop."

Yes, yes! He wanted the pain to stop. Oh, how he wanted it to stop.

But it didn't.

There was more. More, and more.

Jack tried to scream, tried to tell Nathaniel she was one of the bad guys, but he was held down. Why was Nathaniel holding him down?

His powers surged to life in him and he blacked out as more pain took him in an agonizing dizzying wave.

Tools.

Tools were digging into his head. The bad guys were trying to get into his head.

Blood.

So much blood.

Nathaniel was telling him everything was okay.

Jack wanted to yell, to shout.

Couldn't he see? He wasn't okay!

Pulling, pulling, wrenching. It felt like the doctor was tearing apart his brain, and Jack kept wishing for the mommy he didn't know.

Things were pulled from his head just as he felt some sense of doom crushing his chest, and the taste of iron flooded his mouth.

He blacked out again.

Jack came to, body exhausted, muscles tense and shuddering.

Needles were in his head.

Tugging.

Surely his skin was getting torn from his skull.

Jack couldn't see straight, his vision blurred with blood and tears. Snot was dribbling down on the duct tape over his mouth and he was soaked in sweat.

Nathaniel was still there. Surely he was trying to keep him safe from the bad woman.

The bad woman stabbed his thigh - another needle.

Jack wanted the tape off, wanted to beg Nathaniel to make her go away.

He felt tingly, and he didn't want to feel tingly. Tingly meant touching, right? Feeling good meant he'd be touched?

Nathaniel must have noticed his distress, must have noticed what the bad woman was doing because he finally, _finally_ killed her, burning her eyes out with a hand to her head.

More of Jack's tears fell, relieved ones. Then he felt light, the pain beginning to subside.

The angel took the tape off his mouth and Jack was shaking too much to form words.

"It's okay, Jack," Nathaniel assured, his voice soothing. "I'm taking you home now."

Home.

What was his home?

Three figures…

No. No, that wasn't right.

"T-t-to th-the other ang-angels?" he stuttered out.

Nathaniel nodded, helping him up. "Yes, to the other angels. I'll see if Cael will let you bathe. He might since you've been a good boy on this trip."

Jack didn't completely understand how he'd been a good boy, but he would feel rude if he didn't accept praise, so he got out, "Th-thank you."

He really did want to be clean. He was worn and disgusting. But everything was alright. He was going home.

* * *

The trip home was difficult, but in about twenty minutes the pain in Jack's head had greatly subsided. But he found that he was sleepy and hungry. He refused to complain. Complaining would be bad. It would be uncooperative. He had to cooperate.

Jack was left to sit on his bed when he got home, the white of the room hurting his incessantly throbbing head. He scratched at one of the wounds. Something was wrong. What was it?

 _What's_ wrong _?_

He scratched at the wound again, thinking maybe that would help. His nail caught on something, sharp pain flaring down into his face. He lowered his hand, saw blood on his middle finger.

Jack was still staring at it when Nathaniel came in.

"Jack?"

He didn't acknowledge Nathaniel, wasn't sure he knew how to. Besides, Nathaniel had taken him to the hospital. He'd taken him to the bad woman.

Something… Something wrong.

"Jack, I'm going to take you to get cleaned up now. We have a bathroom all set up for you." When Jack didn't respond Nathaniel came closer, continuing, "There's a nice, giant tub, and you can have a bubble bath. Would you like that?"

"Bubbles?"

"Do you like bubbles, Jack?"

"I…" His stomach grumbled. "I like nougat," he responded with the ghost of a smile.

Nathaniel put a hand on his shoulder. "Alright, we'll get you some nougat, but after you're clean."

"Okay."

Nathaniel led Jack to a similarly stark white room, lights beaming from the wall. They'd dim every so often, as if there was a weakness breathing in the room, death, decay.

 _Is that why the angels need my help?_

Jack meant to point at the wall and ask, but his head hurt too much.

Nathaniel cut him out of his clothes, and Jack cried. He didn't know why he cried. Those clothes had been given to him by someone else, by someone who wasn't family. It didn't matter.

"It's okay. We have new clothes for you," the angel soothed.

Jack just stared at him, hoping his eyes showed understanding.

The ivory-colored tub was filled up from a faucet, the water steaming, and a liquid was added to it that made bubbles float on the top. Jack smiled looking at them. Maybe he did like bubbles! He was helped into the hot water, and then he just sat there as Nathaniel washed him. He knew how to clean himself. He did! It was something he'd proudly figured out all on his own, after… after someone had shown discomfort about cleaning him. Who was it? A human? Someone… Someone…

No, he didn't know humans, did he?

"Why did you take me to the bad woman?" Jack eventually asked Nathaniel as the angel scooped water into his hand and gently poured it over Jack's head, using his other hand to shield his eyes.

It made his injuries sting, and Jack flinched, but then he stilled, not wanting to have Nathaniel mess up.

He studied the angel as he worked - his young, kind face, the strong nose, the chiseled jawline and delicate cheekbones.

 _Who is he?_

Jack wasn't sure why he had that thought.

He knew who he was.

Nathaniel. An angel.

 _But how do I know him? Why am I here?_

 _Why did he take me to the bad woman?_

"She wasn't a bad woman," he gently explained.

"But she hurt me."

"Yes, but that was to help you."

"I don't understand."

Nathaniel lightly massaged his scalp with one hand, fingers mindful of his wounds.

"Some things that we have to do hurt, Jack. But not all pain is bad. Some pain is good. Some… uncomfortable sensations are for things far more important."

"Like… Like earlier?" he asked, thinking of when he'd been chained to the bed. He moved his arm, the chains rattling against the side of the tub.

 _Clunk._

He wanted them off. But Nathaniel had said they had to stay on.

"Yes, exactly like earlier. But that wasn't all bad, was it?"

"I bit you," he reasoned, remembering what he'd done.

 _Why did I do that? Why did I bite one of the good guys?_

 _His blood is good._

 _I liked it._

 _But he's a good guy._

"It's alright. You were confused."

Jack sounded the word out slowly, "Confused."

He was confused now too.

What was wrong?

He reached up to try scratching at his head again, but Nathaniel grabbed his forearm and forced it back down into the water.

"No, no. You have to leave those alone so they can heal."

Nathaniel scrubbed at his skin with a soapy sponge, explaining, "But you're not confused now. You know we're doing the right thing."

"What _are_ we doing?" he asked.

The lights dimmed, and Jack tilted his head, observing the power fluctuation. He could feel it, feel the energy twisting and receding.

"You're helping us."

"But how?"

"By just being here," Nathaniel answered, now turning Jack's head to the side to get at his neck. "Heaven is dying, Jack. But you're a nephilim, the son of an archangel. You're powerful, and your power is going to keep Heaven alive. It's going to keep your home alive, and all the souls it holds will remain here, safe."

"Do I get a sword?" he asked, a memory of Pippin being granted a sword in _The Return of the King_ once he'd sworn fealty to Gondor appearing in his mind. Pippin had been brave in the end. Jack wanted to be like him.

The memory puffed out, and he blinked at the bubbly water, confused.

Where had that come from?

How had he seen that?

Jack didn't even really _know_ what he'd just seen, what he'd remembered.

Maybe it wasn't real.

Nathaniel laughed, a sound that made him feel safe.

"Not just yet. Now, once I finish up here, you'll be served a meal in your room. Someone else is already acquiring sustenance for you. I'll make sure to come back later and give you some nougat, alright? Then we're just going to watch you for awhile, make sure your head is okay. Does that sound good?"

"That sounds… fine," Jack answered.

He'd paused. He hadn't been sure.

Something was off.

But he was with family, he was home.

He was safe.

* * *

Cael, Nathaniel, and Duma looked in on Jack while he ate. They had made it so they were able to see through the wall into his bedroom, where there was a tray on his lap with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He was in gray sweatpants now and a gray sweatshirt, and Nathaniel had bandaged his head to keep him from getting at the stitches. Jack seemed happy, seemed compliant enough, but it was hard to tell. He'd asked Cael if he could go get the boy his treat - some nougat - but Cael said he hadn't earned any such thing. He needed to work more first. Duma, the angel who had seemed to have taken charge of Heaven for the moment, had agreed.

"Let him rest for now," she told them in her vessel's slightly raspy, but still-gentle, voice.

"How are the plans for Grace extraction coming along?" he asked the two of them, hands in his pockets.

Duma, outwardly calm, but exuding insecurity about being put into a high up position with all these affairs, glanced at him, eyes widening slightly.

"There's a rumor the Winchesters have a device that would help us," she said, "but getting through them is too risky."

"So what do we do?"

Cael: "I say we cut into him, see how much we can get."

"Then what?"

Nathaniel had a feeling he already knew the answer, but he wasn't sure they'd figured out the exact scientific and magical combination for this endeavor just yet. They'd just have to keep trying.

"His Grace can be stored, and will be replenished. We don't have to worry about that at the moment."

Nathaniel nodded, watching as Jack wiped crumbs from his mouth with his hand.

"For right now we have to make sure he stays compliant, and perhaps some training would do him some good."

"Training?"

"Yes, sexually."

"But we hardly know anything about sexual intercourse ourselves."

"We've all done our research. Now it's time to apply it. We'll watch him for awhile, maybe take him for a walk in the Garden of Eden to make it seem as if we care, to keep him happy. Then we'll send in Ariel and see how she fares with him."

Nathaniel agreed that that was a good plan. Ariel was ready.

But Jack… Jack was not.

Nathaniel wasn't confident they'd done good work on his head, and things could get dangerous. But maybe if they poked and prodded in the right places they would succeed. The Garden would help.

* * *

"I want nougat," Jack complained to the empty room. He'd finished his sandwich and Nathaniel still hadn't come back with his snack. Maybe another angel would hear him?

"I want nougat!" he declared again.

Still he was ignored.

Sam wouldn't have ignored him.

Jack started, even getting off the bed.

 _Who's Sam?_

The name faded, but his agitation stayed, and he began to pace, even with how dizzy and agonized he felt. The chains were heavy, but he was growing used to them.

He quickly wore himself out and sat down on the floor in front of the bed, staring at the door, eyes not quite focusing.

An hour passed, an hour exactly, and the door opened. An angel in the vessel of a Chinese woman entered, and she looked fierce and brave. Jack instantly liked her.

He rose as the door closed behind her.

"Hello," Jack greeted, holding up his hand.

Her lips curled up in a smile that showed her teeth. "Hello, Jack. I'm Tamiel. I'm here to take you on a walk."

"Oh, I'm alright," he told her. "I've been walking around the room. See?"

At that he showed her how he'd been pacing earlier.

"I see, but how would you like to be outside?"

Jack's eyes widened and he forgot about the pain in his head.

"Heaven has an outside?"

"Heaven has many outsides. But first I need something from you. I hope you don't mind."

She took out a vial and her angel blade, and Jack froze, his mouth open slightly as he stared.

"What… What are you going to do?"

"Are you going to cooperate?"

"I…"

"Jack," she said, tone stern, "I want you to cooperate.

Something clicked into place inside him and he relented, "Okay."

She came forward, making his heart beat fast.

"Just a small knick," she promised. "Tilt your head back."

He did so, his adam's apple bobbing up and down. A line of sharp pain was drawn across the left side of his neck. Ringing sounded in his ears and light reached his eyes as he felt something being drained from him.

Before Jack could panic it was over, and Tamiel was putting away the vial filled with gold, her angel blade gone. She held out her hand.

"Come, now." He was hesitant at first and she tugged as she stepped forward, making him follow. "Come on, I don't bite. To the Garden."

"The garden," Jack agreed, even as he felt longing for someone punch him in the chest. Maybe multiple someones. But he couldn't figure it out.

Flowers and plants of all wondrous shapes and colors surrounded him, the air warm and filled with the beautiful scents. Jack breathed it in, inhaled like he never had before. There weren't even names in his head for all that he saw. There were petals in various sizes and trees that reached up to the sky around him, branches hanging with rounded leaves and pointed leaves and soft green needles. A myriad of hues encircled him like a rainbow and in that moment freedom surged in his chest.

"Welcome to the Garden of Eden," Tamiel announced.

Jack didn't look back at her. He let go of her hand, stepping forward onto the cobblestone path in front of him. Lights seemed to hover in the deeper darkness of the trees, like twinkling candles, and there were stone structures: fountains, statues. The sound of running water joyfully burbled in his ear.

Through the greens, reds, yellows, and oranges of the trees the sky swirled lazily in brilliant blues, puffy clouds resting contentedly in the air.

Power and energy radiated off of everything in the Garden, flooding Jack's senses. His head pounded more incessantly, but the pain no longer mattered, only the profound beauty before him did.

Tamiel re-took his hand, showing Jack the many paths. They crossed over pearly stone bridges with streams of silvery-blue wending beneath them, and stopped in courtyards bursting with flowers and fountains spraying crystalline water into the air. Brilliance stretched out around him in all directions and he found himself laughing, feeling more alive than he'd ever remembered.

Jack observed everything with keen interest, eventually dragging Tamiel along instead of the other way around. Every tree, every flower, every plant in that space was nearly too perfect to choose from, but he decided he liked the flowers with the rounded bulbs and thorny stems the best. Elegant, but defiant they were, and he admired them. They came in many colors, but the deep red was his favorite.

He sat down on the soft, springy grass, wind billowing softly, and began to carefully strip the stem of thorns.

"May I?" he asked, holding his hand near the flower in a reverent manner once he'd finished, ready to take it.

Tamiel nodded.

Jack snapped the stem, and then stood, presenting the flower to her.

"Do you know what flower that is?"

It reminded him of _Beauty and the Beast_ , but a name neglected to come to him, as if his brain was too busy trying to figure something else out.

"It's a rose," she told him, delicately taking it from him.

"Rose," he tested, grinning when he found it suited the flower.

"Let's get you back," she told him, taking his hand once more. "You must be getting tired."

Jack nearly argued, but he stopped when he realized it wouldn't matter. This was his home. He could visit the Garden of Eden whenever he liked. Or he hoped he'd be able to.

Heaven. Jack was in Heaven.

* * *

They'd had a plan - Sam and Dean would distract the guard, maybe even subdue them if necessary, while Castiel went into Heaven. It'd been a desperate plan, but a plan nonetheless, one they were all more than ready to enact. They'd made it to the playground, the sun setting before them, painting the sky fiery streaks of scarlet and pink, the colors spreading out like desperate, reaching fingers.

The playground was empty.

No children, no adults, and most importantly, no guard.

No nothing.

Castiel had his angel blade out as he trudged to the sandbox, though he knew what he'd find, what he wouldn't find. The shimmer of power wasn't there. He'd been trying to sense it for miles, and had decided his worry about Jack had made it so he couldn't detect it, but that didn't seem to be the case.

There was nothing to sense, nothing to search for, to feel.

"Cas?" Dean questioned.

"Cas, what is it? What's wrong?"

They knew.

He knew they knew.

Castiel's angel blade slipped from his grip and he fell to his knees, gazing at the sunset, night encroaching to swallow them up.

There was absolutely nothing there. Just a normal playground.

The angels had moved the entrance to Heaven.

Castiel fell forward onto his hands, and screamed, long and loud into the empty air. The light dwindled, shadows passing over him and the Winchesters, taking them.

His tears fell, his hope fell. Agony crushed his heart. Jack's smiling face filled his mind's eye, and then the world was gone. All he knew was his need for his son to be okay.

But that need would not be fulfilled. Jack was surely suffering and they'd lost their best chance at saving him.

They'd failed.

 _My son. I lost my son._


	7. Playtime

**A/N: Read this chapter and burn in Hell with me. I swear to god I love Jack.**

* * *

The angels allowed Jack to sleep, and he was so exhausted - muscles heavy, all his thoughts dragging down - that he was able to fall into that blissful darkness even with the chains on. He was alone when he awoke, but not for long. The door to his room opened, and a short, blonde-haired angel entered. She smiled at him, and after Jack yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he couldn't help but smile back.

"Hello, Jack. My name is Ariel. May I sit?" she asked, gesturing to the bed.

He nodded and made room for her. She sat beside him, hand stroking through his hair in a motherly way, careful about his bandages. He leaned into it. He still missed his mom and he wished someone would tell him why he couldn't remember her, or what had even happened to her. There were other people he missed, too, he was sure of it, but Jack couldn't make sense of that since his family was here.

"I know things have been difficult, Jack," she began, "but Nathaniel sent me to help you."

At the mention of the other angel Jack asked, "Where is he?"

"Watching," she responded simply. "He can hear everything you say."

Jack nodded, relieved that his friend had an eye on him. Nothing bad would happen to him, then. Besides, Ariel was an angel. She would do only good things.

"Do you know why we hurt your head, Jack?" she asked.

"No."

"It was to run some tests on you. You being here helps Heaven, it does. But it's not enough. We're trying to figure out what else we need to do. It's not always going to be pleasant. Do you understand?"

"Are you going to do what Tamiel did to me?" he asked, thinking of the knife slicing a shallow, but still painful, wound into his neck.

He put his fingers over the scab just thinking about it, the chains rattling, pulling down against his wrist. The weight of the metal links didn't bother Jack much anymore; he was starting to get used to it. He knew the angels had their reasons for keeping him in chains. Maybe they were worried he'd accidently hurt them since he had yet to get full control of his powers. And, he remembered, he had hurt them earlier. Jack wanted to apologize, but now didn't seem like the right time.

"No, honey," she responded, her lovely voice holding nothing but truth. She pulled the covers off of his legs, making Jack shift uncomfortably. "Jack, I need you to tell me if you understand."

"Maybe," he responded, though he couldn't quite grasp what was going on.

A lot had been done to him that didn't make sense. He hoped it was going to end soon. The angels were being so strange. For a second Jack wanted to run, but then that thought left. He relaxed.

She kissed his cheek then, and he started in surprise.

"Don't you worry about it, sweetie. Things will work out eventually."

Now her hand was on his thigh and it made Jack think of the touches he'd received earlier. Heat started filling his pelvis.

"Now, Nathaniel sent me here to show you some proper ways to play. He told me you seem very stressed."

Jack nodded, swallowing roughly as he met her gaze. He was nervous, but… she was one of the good guys.

"Do you remember where you were before Heaven?" she asked.

"I…" Jack began, but then faltered.

Humans. Something to do with humans.

"Was I on Earth?" he asked carefully.

"Yes, you were. Some humans were taking care of you. Do you remember them?"

Three faces… Blurry, covered in shadow.

Jack hated them.

"No," he answered.

"Well, they didn't show you how to have playtime," she went on. "They just saw you as a child who couldn't be trusted with having fun."

Jack said nothing. That seemed to make sense to him. He trusted her, especially since he couldn't really think back on what she was talking about. Ariel had no need to lie to him.

"So, honey," she murmured in his ear, her breath warm against his skin, her hands tugging his sweatpants down, "this is how people play with each other."

Jack was a little nervous, but he wanted playtime. He was sure he'd never had it before, sure he would've remembered something such as this. Wasn't he supposed to have playtime? Wasn't he a kid?

Ariel's hand was warm and soft in between his legs and Jack smiled at her.

"That feel good?"

"Mm hm."

She brushed her pointer finger against his lips, making him fill with more heat, making him tingle. He opened his mouth, a moan slipping out as she pumped him. Had the angels been trying to play with him earlier? Then why had they chained him up? Why was he still chained up? Why would the good guys have chains that they were more than willing to use? Something inside hurt, his heart. Panic swelled through him as he thought back on the angels touching him, hurting him. No, that couldn't be right. He must've had a nightmare.

"Do you know what kissing is, Jack?"

For some reason memories of various - what were they called… movies? - popped into his head, a word associated with them: _Disney_.

People kissed in those movies, lips coming together, so he nodded.

"You can kiss me if it'll be more fun for you," she informed him. "It's alright."

He shook his head, not really sure why. Ariel kept touching him, tugging his pants lower, exposing his skin. Jack just watched her, watched as she touched him, studied her face, her concentration. If this was playtime, why didn't she seem to be having fun? Maybe she wanted him to kiss her.

Unsure about the proper way to do this, Jack gently grabbed her face in both hands and pulled her mouth towards his. Their lips touched and she giggled, making him smile. They fell back on the bed, Ariel on him, and now Jack was laughing.

He grinned at her as she leaned in to kiss him again, and now he had the urge to touch, to feel. He ran a hand up her back underneath her shirt, as their lips brushed together, and her hips ground down against him. Jack's smile widened at the sensation and then he was trying to sit up, to have Ariel straddle him. He didn't know why, but he bucked his hips forward.

She laughed. "Someone's excited. Hold on, Jack. We'll get to the real fun part soon. We can roll around on the bed, then. How does that sound to you?"

"Will it be bouncy?" he asked, shifting his hips to show the give of the mattress.

She caressed his cheek.

"A little, yes. Depends on how hard you want to roll around."

Thinking he had a good grasp of the current situation Jack told her, "Then I want to roll around extra hard."

"That's good, sweetie. That's real good."

He tried to kiss her again, but she averted his lips. Instead she was lowering herself down his body and then her mouth was on him. Jack had his hands in her hair, tugging slightly as he moaned from the fire her wet mouth lit in him.

If playtime felt this good, why had he never been properly shown it before? Maybe that's why he'd been chained up, because he was confused about this and had tried to hurt them. They were just being nice to him.

Feeling playful himself, Jack pushed her head down farther, farther… until all of him was encased in her. It almost reminded him of eating a popsicle, except his body was burning hot. She didn't struggle, and he grinned, thrusting his hips up.

Ariel pulled off of him then, leaving Jack wet and wanting in between his legs.

She ran her hands over his hips.

"Take it easy. Playtime doesn't have to be rushed. Okay?"

"Okay."

She spit on him, an action that he thought was familiar. Maybe he'd seen it in a movie before. He had thought it would be degrading, that she would spew poison, but Ariel didn't snarl nasty words. She just worked the spit against his skin, making him feel light even as he felt pressure building in his pelvis.

He could trust her. She'd tell him only nice things, do only nice things.

Jack moaned when that pressure became nearly too much, and he fisted the sheets in his hand, tilting his head back.

Oh gosh, this felt divine. Ariel had nice hands, and though she seemed a bit hesitant, she quickly seemed to figure out what she was doing with them. He grew bored of the pace she'd set, and put his hand over hers, noticing that it was larger, liking that for some reason, and he had her squeeze harder, moving her hand more quickly.

"You like it like this?" she asked him.

"Oh, yes…" he got out, panting, sweat beading on his forehead, being soaked up by the bandage.

Each of her touches was driving away the immense pain in his head, and he wanted more. He _needed_ more.

Ariel's mouth was on him again, kissing, and it seemed odd to him. Wasn't kissing only supposed to be done on the lip?

"Why are you doing that?" he asked her.

For a second she looked startled, blue eyes widening, but then she took her mouth off of him, stroking delicately as she responded, "It's part of playtime."

Jack frowned - an action that was hard to do when he felt so good. Ariel didn't seem entirely convinced. What wasn't she telling him?

"Is it?" he asked, deciding to drive this point further.

Her indecision seemed to leave, completely snuffed out of her by something, some drive, and she responded. "Yes, sweetie. Of course."

She smiled, relieving some of Jack's nerves that had begun to build up as they talked, and then she was licking him. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands going into her hair, and he was bucking up against her, craving her sweet mouth once more. But she didn't take him in. Jack whined.

He didn't like this. Wasn't playtime supposed to go how he wanted it?

Testing that, he reached out and grabbed Ariel's head, forcing her down on him. A surprised gasp left her that was muffled by his flesh, but then she let him do it. Jack thrust up into her mouth, the mattress feeling a tad bouncy beneath him, and he almost giggled.

There was fire in his blood, burning brighter as she began to suck him, and Jack found himself arching his hips up even more. Her hands ran underneath him, caressing him, fingers light and playful.

Then something occurred to Jack. How was it fair that he was getting all the attention during this play session?

Determined, he removed Ariel from him, and she didn't seem at all fazed. Jack moved in to take her pants off, and then she was doing it for him, an easy smile on her face that made him feel warm, and loved.

"Don't worry, honey. I can take care of that."

He watched, fascinated, as she showed more of her skin to him, and then she was kneeling with him on the bed. Jack lifted up her shirt, curiously pressing his mouth against her stomach.

She didn't taste good, but she didn't taste bad. Just tasted like skin, and warmth. He liked it, felt like he needed more of it.

He grabbed her and rolled, chains clinking rather noisily as he got on top, his mouth traveling down her body. Jack put a hand in between her legs just as she had done for him. She was different in between her legs, a different that he didn't quite understand, but he liked. Ariel was wet for some reason, and Jack glanced down, worried that she might be bleeding. She wasn't, but the pink folds of her skin glistened. Clearly something was happening.

Curious, Jack brought his mouth to in between her legs.

She tasted… He didn't have the word for how she tasted, but it was… natural, something good, and she felt so hot. Ariel was caressing his shoulders, and he wanted his sweatshirt off. The chains had had to be taken off for a quick moment by Cael in order for him to get dressed again, but Cael wasn't around now, so he figured he'd have to stay clothed. Jack pulled away, and rolled his sleeves up, feeling much too hot, and Ariel was lifting up his shirt, hands warm against his back, making him tingle. He delved in between her legs again, licking, tasting. He hoped he was doing this right, but she'd put her mouth on him, so he figured that that's how playtime worked.

He was exploring with his fingers, probing, feeling, trying to understand her body. Jack was confused when she let out a moan as he sucked on a nub of her flesh. He stopped instantly, looking up at her.

"No, no. It's okay, Jack," she breathed, a hand in his hair, and then lightly caressing over the bandages. "It's okay."

"Are you having fun?" he asked, hoping she would be honest with him.

"I am."

"Good."

Jack grinned at her, and then he licked that little nub. Her legs widened and he felt her become even more wet against his fingers.

None of these were things Jack understood, but he found that his confusion didn't bother him too much. He just wanted to taste, to touch, to play.

Thinking back to his time with Laila, Jack searched around for an opening in her body, mostly wondering how such a thing could exist. He found it, and carefully pushed one of his fingers inside. She whimpered, and Jack continued licking, figuring the sound meant she was having as much fun as he was.

She was even more wet inside, all hot and tight, and for some reason he twitched in between his legs, excitement coiling his gut.

Jack began to think that maybe he should put more of himself in her. How that worked, and why, he didn't know.

But playtime could be about exploring, couldn't it? It could be about learning?

Jack felt as if he was learning a lot, and this did calm him, even as he was giddy with longing. Longing for… for something. He didn't know what.

Ariel gently pushed his head back, murmuring, "That's enough for now."

Unable to help himself, he pouted.

"Is playtime over?" he asked, a whine in his voice.

"No, silly," she said. "'Course it's not. Come here."

Jack climbed up her body, and she grabbed his face and kissed him. Her other hand then worked down in between his legs. He moaned, mouth opening wide when she grasped him, and her tongue entered his mouth. Jack fought back against her, hoping he was allowed to get rough with his playtime. It seemed like it'd be fun that way.

Then he was against Ariel, where she was all hot and welcoming, and with hardly a thought he was pushing into her.

Oh yes, this was exactly how playtime was supposed to go. Everything about it felt right.

If Jack had known the angels had just been trying to help him earlier he wouldn't have fought back.

Ariel tensed beneath him for some reason, but Jack found he couldn't stop pushing into her. He had his arms above her so the chain wouldn't be on her, and it rested just above her head. Jack was still kissing her, and now she was clinging to him, nails scratching pleasantly at his shoulder blades.

Jack leaned his forehead against her when he was fully encased in her, and their breath mixed together.

"What now?" he asked, his voice roughened for some reason.

"Now we have even more fun," she told him, voice breathy and… and Jack didn't know. It was… delicious.

No, that wasn't the right word.

That was applied to food.

She wasn't food.

But Jack still felt like he needed her like food, only it wasn't just his stomach that was feeling pleasure from being in her. He felt it deep, in between his legs, embedding itself in his body as white light.

"Just move around," she told him. "I'm sure you have energy you need to let out from all that stress."

She was right. He did. Earlier Jack had been pacing, and he'd wanted to pace after his nap, but now he had this.

He found himself pushing into her, making her legs wrap around him as she whined, her head tilting back. Jack kissed at her neck, feeling as if he had to do something with his mouth. And then he was thrusting in and out of her, the give of the mattress allowing him to do it with more force. He liked the bouncing, so he kept doing it, more and more, going as hard as he dared, Ariel holding onto him as if she loved all that was happening.

Eventually she rolled them over, and Jack rolled again, for some reason deciding that he didn't want to be on the bottom. Maybe another time he would, but he felt like there was just too much to do. They almost fell off the bed, and the two of them broke apart to laugh as they fixed themselves.

Jack had had to pull out of Ariel in order to catch himself, and then an idea came to him.

"Can I roll you over?" he asked.

Instead of making him do it, Ariel did it for him. Jack kissed her back, in between her shoulder blades, and she arched up into his lips. Then he was doing his best to enter her again. It was still difficult to tell how everything worked, but Ariel coaxed him on, her words kind and gentle, and eventually he was back in her.

In this position he found that he could bounce on the bed even more, and Jack found himself laughing as he entered her again and again. In a few seconds he slipped out of Ariel, and he groaned in frustration.

She was moaning beneath him, and shifting up against him, seeming to also hate that the most fun part of their playtime had been interrupted by some mistake. He managed to thrust into her again, not needing much help this time. And, wanting to roughhouse a bit, he put his hands in front of her, and pulled back slightly, the chains against her throat. Ariel grabbed onto them, seeming to almost panic, but Jack didn't know why. He wasn't going to hurt her.

A word came to him from the depths of his shadowy and scattered memories, a word he'd heard someone say before, someone that… someone he couldn't put a face to, but it felt appropriate in the moment: "Fuck!"

Yes, that was a good word. He liked that word. He felt so good he had to say it. He didn't know what else to do. Jack was having so much fun.

Their play session didn't last long because after a minute or two of that he was overcome with immense pleasure, leaning on Ariel, holding himself up, trembling, arching into her with everything he had, crying out.

Her insides clenched around him, and she groaned, as if she was forcing herself to do that. Jack would've wondered why she did such a thing, but there were bright lights flashing in his head, pleasure searing through his body, jolting through him and out in beautiful spurts.

Something was being released, that much he knew, but he couldn't fathom what it was.

It ended, and Jack pulled out of her, lying down on his side next to her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her close, but instead, she was up and off the bed in a matter of seconds. Jack rested some of his weight on his arm, lifting himself up, gazing at her in confusion, tiny beads of sweat dripping down his face.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Playtime's over," she told him quickly as she pulled her pants back on.

"But…"

"Playtime's _over_ ," she repeated, lovely voice more stern than he'd heard it before.

Jack clamped his mouth shut, and for some reason he wanted to cry.

No, no, no. He couldn't cry. He shouldn't cry.

Playtime was over. He was going to have to be okay with that.

Disappointed that this wonderful angel wouldn't be staying with him, he tucked himself back into his sweatpants and pulled them up around his hips again, then he straightened his sweatshirt. Though, he felt a tad gross from the sweat, felt like he needed to bathe again.

Ariel left, not even giving him a kiss on the cheek like he had expected.

The door closed, and he glared at it before lowering his gaze.

Jack couldn't understand why, but he felt so empty inside. Maybe playtime wasn't so good after all.

No, he'd liked it. He had. But...

He just wanted his family.

And his family was right there.


	8. On a Wing and a Prayer

Jack wasn't asked to do much the rest of the day - well, in Heaven he was starting to lose track of time, so he couldn't be entirely sure if it even _was_ the rest of the day. He was fed some more, Nathaniel cleaned him, checked the bandages and stitches on his head, which were even more itchy. Then he was sat down at a table before Cael and another angel he didn't recognize. Her face was all sharp lines, and she didn't look as friendly as Tamiel or Ariel.

"Jack," she began, "my name's Duma. Cael and I just want to ask you a few questions. If you answer them to our liking we can take the chains off. Does that sound good?"

"Yes."

"What can you tell us of the humans who took care of you on Earth?" Cael asked him.

Jack wasn't sure what they wanted to know, but he tried his best to think of a proper answer.

The humans who had taken care of him…

He didn't like them, that much he knew. There had been three of them, but…

Jack couldn't quite remember.

"I think there were three," he said carefully.

Duma: "Do you know their names?"

Jack searched and searched and searched, but his head seemed to be filled with fog and shadows, like maybe something wasn't quite right. Every time he felt like he was getting close to an answer, a name just on the tip of his tongue, it faded away. But he didn't tell them that.

Instead he just answered, "No."

"Do you remember anything else? Where you were before? What you were doing?" Duma continued to question.

"I…"

Jack didn't know what he'd been doing before being in Heaven. It bothered him. Shouldn't he have been doing something?

"I don't know," he finished. "But it doesn't matter now, does it? I'm here. I'm trying to help. I want to help."

"That's good, Jack. And you are helping," Duma assured, voice scratchy, but reassuring, and he grinned at her.

Cael on the other hand didn't look pleased and Jack did his best to not glare at him. He didn't like that angel, but he didn't know why.

Suddenly, Jack asked, not even sure where the thought came from, "Do I have a dad?"

"Of course you do," Cael answered abruptly, words sharp, tone stinging. "But we will not discuss him."

"Why not?"

"Because he's not important," the angel answered, sharing a look with Duma. "I think that's enough for now."

"Did I answer the questions right?"

Duma pursed her lips, but then answered, "We're not quite sure just yet. We'll have to ask you again tomorrow. In the meantime, you'll have playtime with Tamiel."

Jack's smile widened. He liked Tamiel.

"Okay!"

* * *

Duma was the one sent to watch as Tamiel tried her luck with Jack. The Nephilim was as eager as he had been with Ariel. Tamiel seemed less motherly with him, but she was kind to him, and that's what seemed to work. If only Cael would realize that. They weren't trying to torture this child. They just needed him.

Their ventures hadn't been successful yet. They'd tried inserting some of Jack's Grace into Ariel before their coupling, but still that had not yielded a child. They weren't quite sure what they were supposed to do, but for now, Duma supposed they would just have Jack try with the other angels, and learn, while they thought of new ways to get him to rear a child.

At the moment, Duma could tell that Jack was confused as he touched Tamiel, as she touched him, but he was excited, cheeks flushed, body hot and eager. His face was alight with a joy that she had yet to understand, but she knew her time to lay with him would come.

Duma swallowed roughly thinking about it. She didn't want to have to touch the Nephilim. He worried her more than he did Nathaniel, Ariel, or Tamiel. Still, she wasn't going to be cruel to him like Cael was. It made the poor boy confused, and it wasn't helping their delicate situation with his head.

He'd been hesitant while answering their questions, but he would heal eventually, so she supposed they would just have to take the chains off.

Still, she wanted to question him again tomorrow to see how much time they had before they would have to delve into his mind again. Jack was intelligent. Some part of him probably knew that something was wrong. So now it was their task to keep him happy, to give him everything he wanted, even while he was their prisoner, and hopefully Cael would follow along with that.

Realizing Jack's hurt after Ariel had left earlier, Duma had discussed it with her, and she'd later spoken to Tamiel privately, telling her to stay with the boy afterwards. This would hopefully make Jack feel like they were trying their best to take care of him.

Though the child didn't understand what was happening to him, something which made Duma feel tainted even though she knew this was necessary, he clearly wanted some form of comfort. The part of him that could remember his family on Earth might be the drive behind that. They might have to do more exploring in his mind later to figure that out.

For now, Duma just watched, trying to think of what else to do with his Grace, and how to solve the problem of being reluctant to touch him.

Duma wasn't going to touch him if she didn't have to, and she knew some angels who had already flat-out refused to be anywhere near him. They were going to have to figure something out.

Jack finished inside of Tamiel, holding her to him, a huge smile on his young face. She was on top of him, Jack's chains trailing against her bare back. She pulled off of him, and Duma spoke over angel radio, telling her to stay.

Tamiel listened, and she lay down next to Jack, who ran a hand through her dark hair.

"Thanks for playing with me," Jack told her, voice so innocent Duma had to turn away from the scene before her.

She wondered if Cael hurt like this, wondered if Nathaniel did, if any of the other angels did. But she knew she couldn't ask them. There was too much at stake to let emotions get in the way.

* * *

The motel was small, rundown, two beds nearly crammed together with hardly any space for Sam and Dean to walk in between. A pathetic outlet that their phone cords wouldn't even stay plugged into was the only thing in between the two beds. Every piece of furniture looked like it needed cleaning and repair, but Sam and Dean didn't even care. Castiel didn't care much either.

They couldn't go back to the bunker.

They just couldn't, not without Jack.

Sam had expected to go back home with Jack, but without him, it wouldn't feel like much of a home. So for now, this crappy motel that was decorated (which was putting it nicely) in drab browns was all they had, all they could deal with. They'd been there for a day now, moping, suffering in silence, worrying till they could barely stand the thoughts in their heads. Sam and Dean hadn't been able to sleep, hadn't been able to eat, and Castiel did his best to prod them into taking care of themselves, but he felt this loss, this failure, just as much as they did.

Sam was now sitting on his bed, laptop open, screen blank as he pondered what he could even research to fix this. Dean was sitting at the table with a bottle of beer that he was sharing with Cas. They'd offered Sam a sip, but he felt too numb to even want any. The only thing he felt aside from the numbness was the way his stomach was twisted into knots that felt as if they'd never be undone, so he was sure drinking or eating anything at the moment would make him sick.

"What do we do?" he asked, breaking the depressive silence that had blanketed them, not looking up from his laptop.

His fingers were resting on the keys, nearly twitching, just wanting to type something in, to find anything that could help them. There was nothing for a long moment but sharp, pained breaths.

Castiel eventually responded, "I don't know. The angels have cut me off from angel radio, and all the gates to Heaven are closed. There's no way in, not even for me."

"So we just wait for them to release him?" Dean asked, showing he clearly didn't like the idea.

"I'm not sure they will," Cas informed them. "They think they need him."

"Yeah, well what they need to do is keep their hands to themselves," Sam said bluntly, closing his laptop and setting it aside. He wiped a hand over his face and ran it through his hair. "I… I can't _believe_ this is happening to him." His throat hurt at the mere thought that Jack wasn't with them, that he was being touched, that he was being hurt.

Oh god, he must be so afraid.

Sam knew what fear felt like. Real, true fear, and the angels were inflicting it upon Jack.

"Cas, can you find one of the gates?" he went on.

"I… I don't know."

Dean shot him a despairing look, and Sam could just barely stop himself from doing the same.

"Then what do you know?" Dean asked.

"I've heard rumors," Castiel began, "of another angel. If they're true, she's not in Heaven."

"How do we find her?"

Castiel began "I-"

"I swear to god if you say _I don't know_ I'm gonna-"

"I don't know!" Castiel shouted, suddenly standing up, chair almost falling to the floor. "There, that's it! I don't know! Jack… Jack is being _raped_ and I don't know what to do about it!"

"Cas!" Sam shouted, trying to get his best friend's attention. His loud voice had broken through the numbness and now he felt emotion rising in him, hot, sickening. Castiel turned to him, eyes glazed over with tears. "We will find a way. We have to."

"You don't understand. It's already too late."

Now Sam was standing, and he was opening his mouth before he was even thinking, "I do understand!"

A second passed after he was met with silence and confused stares and he realized he had said too much. Sam grabbed his jacket from where it lay by his pillow, pulled it on as quickly as he could, and then left, not bothering to be gentle with closing the door.

It was dark aside, a tad cold, but he was used to the cold, used to the dark. He hated it, despised it way deep down, but he knew it more than anything else. It was familiar. So he picked a direction and started walking, hoping to get far away from the horrors that were his life.

* * *

Dean and Castiel were left staring at the door after Sam left, stunned.

"Do we go after him?" Castiel eventually asked.

"No," Dean responded, hating the weight that word held. Hating that all they could was let Sam go since they had no plan, no nothing.

Castiel turned to him with frightened, mournful eyes.

"Dean, I'm sorry."

The angel took his seat again, slumping down in it before reaching across the table and taking hold of the beer. He stared at it.

"We're going to need more of this," he said.

And then in a matter of seconds Dean was watching his friend down the rest of the bottle.

He was right. They did need more.

But no. No, they couldn't just give up. They couldn't! Dean had barely gotten to know the kid, hadn't even gotten to make amends, and now… Oh god.

"Cas, you gotta find that angel. What's her name?"

"Anael," he answered gruffly, setting the empty bottle down. "But I have no idea how to find her. I barely know her."

"You think she'll help us?"

"I think she knows more than me at this point. I assume she hasn't lost favor with all the angels."

"Can you sense her?"

Cas shook his head, which made Dean groan.

"Not close enough. Wherever she is she's far from here."

"Fuck," Dean growled. "Can you…?" he half-questioned, raising his hand and waving his fingers near his head.

"I could try reaching her. But I feel nothing."

"Do it anyway," Dean insisted.

And then he was left staring at Castiel as he had his eyes closed, watching his breathing, watching the way his brow furrowed and his hands clenched. He hoped he'd be able to reach her over angel radio. The others had closed him off, but if Anael was on Earth she hopefully had no part in the atrocities that were happening to Jack.

Dean got up and started pacing, fingers against his mouth, nearly wanting to bite at them.

Finally, after he could barely stand it and his muscles were aching with tension, Castiel opened his eyes.

"Nothing," he answered gruffly, before blinking and turning his head away. Dean assumed he was trying to hide that he was crying.

Dean knew it was better to not hope, knew to expect such an answer, but it was still more than he could handle.

Why couldn't they just find the kid? Why did the universe have to throw this shit at them? Why did Jack deserve this?

He wasn't even a year old!

Dean's vision was turning red, blurring, and then he heard an incredibly loud voice, screaming and screaming. Things were breaking in front of him, and he felt wonderful exertion in his muscles.

Then there were strong arms wrapping around him from behind and he was being pulled down to the floor. He roared, feeling as if he had to fight, had to defend himself, but he was trapped. A leg was being put over his, helping to hold him down, and then he was crying.

"I didn't even get to say I was sorry!" Dean yelled, torment ripping through his voice. "I scared him! I threatened him! And I didn't get to apologize."

"He knows, Dean," Castiel soothed. "He knows."

Out of Dean's darkness came an idea, and he pulled himself away from Cas, doing his best to compose himself. It wasn't easy when he saw what he'd done to their room. The beer bottle was completely smashed, one of the chairs in splinters, the lamp shattered against the wall, the mirror in slivers of glass, showing Dean his broken and ruined reflection in the shards that remained. Castiel went over to him, taking his hands in his, and Dean looked down with big eyes, realizing his knuckles were bleeding.

His idea solidified as angelic light encompassed his wounds.

"Cas, if I pray to her will she hear me?"

"She will," he insisted.

"Will she come?"

"I don't know."

He pulled away from him, turning away, unable to look at him after the damage he'd caused, after his admittance to how he'd wronged Jack.

"Guess we'll find out."

* * *

Sam walked as long as he could, till he collapsed in an alleyway, head resting against a grimy brick wall.

"Jack," he breathed, vision already blurring with tears. "I don't know if you can hear me, but it's… it's Sam. I miss you, buddy. We all miss you. I… I know the angels are doing things to you that you don't understand. And we'll take care of you. Once we get you back we'll take care of you, we'll keep you safe. I'm sorry. I'm sorry we couldn't do more, but we're trying. I promise we're gonna keep trying, and we're not gonna give up till you're with us again. You will be with us again. Castiel, he sees you as his son. _I_ see you as my son. Hell, I think even Dean does too. I know how confused you must be, how terrified, but your family's coming for you, Jack. Hang in there. I know you can."

Sam looked around after he'd said all he'd needed to say, as if he was expecting to suddenly find their son with him.

But he was all alone in the dark night. He pulled his knees up to his chest and did his best to feel numb again, otherwise he feared he'd begin to cry, and then it wouldn't stop.

But the numbness didn't come upon him, and his stomach growled, and his body begged for water.

It began to rain, and Sam huddled up against the wall, still not ready to go back to his brother and his friend.

Jack. He just wanted Jack.

* * *

Cael and Duma had questioned Jack again and the chains had been taken off. It seemed late in the day, or at least he thought it was. He was allowed in the Garden of Eden again, Laila supervising him this time. He didn't like her so much, but he couldn't figure out why. She'd been nothing but nice to him, but every time she came closer he found himself unintentionally shying away. It was odd.

It was in the Garden that a voice came to Jack, a voice that was so achingly familiar that it pierced his heart.

Recognition alighted in him, and he collapsed to his knees, hands on his head. The bandages had been taken off, the stitches taken out, and his wounds had healed once the chains had been taken off. He'd felt something odd in his head all day, but now something seemed to burst in him.

 _...your family's coming for you, Jack. Hang in there._

 _Sam!_

Memory started flooding back into him, and then he couldn't breathe. Jack felt hands holding his wrists, and he pulled away, nearly falling backwards. He caught himself and stood, looking around wildly.

Oh no, no, no, no, no!

Home. This wasn't home. This wasn't home. This wasn't home.

Things still didn't make sense to him but he remembered that with Sam he felt safe. With… With Dean and Castiel he felt safe.

No!

They were bad! They were bad!

The angels were good!

There was screeching in his head, feminine hands on him that he found himself pulling away from as his skin crawled.

Home, home, home. He wanted to go home.

Jack's breaths came quickly, his hands and feet tingling, his vision tunneling. The Garden of Eden became a sickening blur of color.

Then he felt power, reaching out from him to take form behind him, a part of him he'd never realized had been there. Large and beautiful, and _free_.

Wings. They were wings.

Somehow Jack just knew they were his wings.

He had no idea how to use them, but he tried latching onto Sam, crying out for him in his head, hoping he could hear him. His powers were searing and bursting through him.

Sam! Sam! Sam!

Obliterating pain pierced through his skull, and he collapsed again, the bliss of his wings leaving him.

In a moment his panic and euphoria faded. The voice he'd heard was no more, and he no longer understood what he'd heard.

Maybe it had been nothing.

A hand was on his shoulder, and Jack opened his eyes, looking up towards Laila's worried face.

"Jack?" she questioned tentatively.

"I'm… alright," he told her with a frown, trying to understand everything.

Already the incident was fading from his mind and he couldn't figure out why he was on the ground.

"What happened?" he questioned.

Laila looked at him with big eyes, and instead of answering she said, "Perhaps we should get you back your room. I'll see if one of the other angels can keep you company."

She helped Jack to his feet as he asked excitedly, "Can Nathaniel spend time with me?"

Jack hadn't seen him in a bit, and he missed him. Maybe they could have playtime.

"We'll see," Laila said. "It's up to Duma."

Jack's hopes fell. He didn't like Duma much, and he didn't know why. A wave of guilt struck him at the thought.

Jack was led out of the Garden, all the while he felt like something was wrong with his head, like there was something important he was trying hard to remember.

But for the life of him he didn't know what it could be. Whatever it was, maybe it wasn't that important. So he shrugged it off and allowed himself to be taken back to his room.

* * *

Nathaniel had gone to observe Jack in his room as soon as he'd heard about what had happened. He ran into Cael on the way there, and found himself having to argue for Jack's freedom, or… partial freedom.

Cael wanted the chains back on, wanted to go into his head, but Nathaniel refused to allow it.

Jack wouldn't want to cooperate if they put the chains back on. The boy clearly enjoyed having them off.

With Duma's help he'd convinced Cael this was just a small setback, and the chains wouldn't be necessary, and neither would the drill. They'd just have to nurture him properly, question him with care and see if they could figure out what had happened.

For now, until they understood, Laila wasn't allowed to be around him. She was quite fine with that. In fact, Ariel and Tamiel seemed more wary now.

Duma feared Cael would strangle the boy, and Jack was lonely, so Nathaniel was the one who ended up being sent in.

Jack smiled at him excitedly, and guilt tried to consume his Grace.

"Nathaniel!" he cried out in greeting. He didn't rise from where he sat cross-legged on the bed, but he straightened, eyes widening slightly.

"Hello, Jack," he greeted, going over to him.

He thought of sitting on the bed, but then he thought better of it. The sheets had been cleaned while Jack was in the Garden, but it was still odd to think that the Nephilim had copulated with angels there.

Nathaniel didn't like how he felt about that, especially since he'd helped in their first two attempts. He knew soon he'd probably be asked to help even more. He clasped his hands in front of him, hoping it didn't look too menacing, knowing the boy was rather sensitive at the moment.

"What do you remember about being in the Garden?" he asked him.

Jack looked down, clearly thinking back on it. "I was with Laila," he began, words chosen with care, "and then I was on the ground." His eyes were on Nathaniel again. "Why was I on the ground?"

"We don't know, Jack, but we think something happened to your head. How do you feel?"

"Like… Like there's something important I have to remember. Do you know what it is?"

"I'm afraid I don't," Nathaniel lied, feeling awful as the words left his mouth.

Jack's lips turned down in a slight frown, but he nodded his head in understanding. Nathaniel would expect any other child to throw a tantrum at being told their question couldn't be answered, but then again, Jack was no ordinary child. It wasn't just his body that was that of an adult, part of his mind was as well. He could process much more than a child had capacity for, but there was still that spark of innocence in him, that blissful ignorance, that curiosity, that kindness and wonder.

Nathaniel hated taking advantage of it, but he was just following orders. Besides, he _had_ to do this. If Heaven fell there would be nothing for him, for any of them, and the Earth would plunge into utter chaos and ruin.

This child could save them all.

If only they could get his Grace to play a part in the couplings. Nathaniel figured the problem lay there, and not with his seed.

Knowing Jack would feel more comfortable if he sat, he got over his anxiety, and joined him on the bed.

"Is it playtime now?" Jack asked eagerly.

Nathaniel's stomach turned, a rather unfamiliar sensation thanks to being an angel, but his emotions became very palpable around the boy.

"No," he told him. "No, it's not."

Jack's face fell, and Nathaniel reached out to ruffle his hair.

"Don't worry. I'm sure we'll find someone to play with you soon. We just want to figure out what happened to you first."

"Would you be allowed to play with me?" Jack asked.

Nathaniel looked up, knowing someone might be watching him. Even now he could sense Cael nearby. He pursed his lips.

Nathaniel was more comfortable with touching Jack than the other angels, but he didn't want to give up his vessel. He'd grown attached to him over the past few years, as much as he hated to admit. Giving him up to go into a female vessel just so he could get impregnated wasn't something he thought he'd enjoy. Jack being in him wasn't something that seemed enjoyable, though he'd done his fair amount of research on how the human bodies worked. Maybe he could ask Ariel or Tamiel about it.

Or perhaps there was another way… One in which he would barely have to touch him.

Nathaniel let that thought keep spinning while he answered, "Not like this."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not in the right vessel for playtime," he explained, the last word tasting sour on his tongue.

Jack reached out to him to run his hand along his cheek as he told him sweetly, "Of course you are."

Nathaniel grabbed his hand and lowered it.

"You don't understand," he told him.

"Then tell me."

"Jack, I'm not here to talk about that. I want to ask you about the Garden."

Jack turned himself away from him, arms crossed, "I already told you, I don't know what happened."

"Laila told me you were getting ready to fly. Were you going to fly, Jack?"

Nathaniel could see the boy fighting with himself to not look at him, but then he did, face etched with confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"You have wings," Nathaniel explained, even as he felt like he wasn't supposed to. In truth, he hadn't known the Nephilim had wings. Nephilim were incredibly rare, so hardly anyone knew anything about them, though he supposed it made sense that the boy would have wings. However, telling him when he couldn't remember maybe wasn't the brightest idea. He might try to escape.

Nathaniel wasn't sure if he could figure out a way to get down to Earth, especially with the gates closed, but he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that the child before him was even more powerful than Lucifer.

There was so much he could do if he wanted to, if he knew how to.

"I do?" Jack asked, face lighting up again, seeming to forget being upset about what Nathaniel had previously told him.

Nathaniel nodded.

"I do too."

"Can I see?"

Nathaniel looked to where he felt Cael was watching him, but then he agreed to it. It was easy letting his wings show through into this dimension, especially in Heaven. He showed Jack, each wing spreading out in thirteen feet on either side of him. They ached as they always did, something he was more aware of while showing them, and they felt _wrong_. He still had yet to heal from The Fall, and few feathers had grown in. But if they could save Heaven he had centuries to wait till they healed. A few years was nothing.

Jack's eyes grew big at seeing them in all their bony, fragile horror.

"Do mine look like that?" he asked quietly.

"No, yours are much more beautiful," he assured him.

Nathaniel made his wings fade as Jack started reaching out to them; he didn't think he'd be able to handle the boy touching them.

Then Jack was grasping at his own shoulders, as if he'd suddenly be able to feel his wings. Nathaniel nearly breathed a sigh of relief. So he didn't understand how any of this worked. They weren't about to lose him.

Nathaniel spent more time with Jack, made sure the boy was comfortable, wasn't hungry, or thirsty, wasn't too bored. Jack asked many questions, always keeping Nathaniel on his toes, and it was nerve-wracking as much as it was entertaining. He ended up telling Jack a good deal about Heaven, making sure it was all good things. They needed him to stay on their side.

Jack eventually reached out for Nathaniel and made him put his hand on him. He'd touched him before, so he assumed this was okay, so Nathaniel let Jack signal with his movements that he wanted him to hold onto him. It felt odd doing so, but he was eventually propped against the pillows, Jack's head resting on his chest. It'd be some time before he needed sleep, so he had to prepare himself to stay like this for awhile, to keep Jack happy, entertained.

To his surprise, the boy seemed to enjoy the silence that followed, and Nathaniel began to wonder what he was thinking about. But he was too taken with the thoughts in his own head to bother asking him.

There was a way to acquire what they needed from Jack. He just knew it. And if that plan didn't work, maybe they could have a talk with him about Grace, make him aware of it, so he could put intention behind his coupling. But telling him was risky, so what Nathaniel was now thinking of they'd have to try first.

It was a long shot to get the other angels to agree since it was just so _human_ , so _odd_ , but it was something, and right now all they had was getting Jack used to the sensations he'd be feeling through all of this.

Jack seemed to be growing used to it already, something Nathaniel noticed, as he placed one leg over his and tilted his head to lightly kiss at his neck. Nathaniel gently pushed him away, to which Jack let out a sound of complaint.

"Sh," he soothed, running a hand through his hair, hoping he'd enjoy the sensation and it might placate him.

"I'm bored," Jack complained.

"I'll get one of the other angels to play with you," he told him, despising himself as he did so. "Would you like Ariel again?"

Nathaniel didn't much like suggesting her, but he knew Jack had seemed to like her, felt comforted by her motherly way of talking to him. Ariel might not want to, but he'd convince her.

Jack nodded, and Nathaniel pat him. "Alright, I'll see if she's up for it. And then after I'll take you for a bath."

"Thanks, Nathaniel!" he responded, joy in his voice.

Jack got off of him, and Nathaniel went to the door. He gave the boy one last look before leaving, and instead of seeing the ecstasy he'd heard in his voice he saw only confusion, sadness, longing, as if his mind was trying to figure this out, as if it was searching for something.

Nathaniel turned away, deciding to keep the knowledge of that look to himself.

He didn't want Jack to suffer more than he had to, and already they'd taken his family from him.

Jack was all alone and he didn't even know it.

* * *

 **A/N: If you've made it this far you deserve my respect. As I write this I'm aware of how tragically dark it is, so don't think I'm over on the other end of a screen cackling maniacally. It's true, I like dark fic, but I won't deny how intense this is.**


	9. Knockin' on Heaven's Door

Anael was unlocking her apartment door when she heard the man's voice in her head. It startled her so much that she ended up dropping her keys.

 _Anael, I know you don't know me, but you may have heard of me. My name's Dean Winchester. I don't know if you know what's going on in Heaven right now, but I need your help. My family needs you help. I know it's a lot for a stranger to ask, but I was hoping you could meet up with us._

Dean gave her a location, somewhere in Kansas, and he gave her a time. Tomorrow at noon. If Anael left now she could make it in time, but she couldn't just storm off; she had a business to think about.

She of course knew who Dean Winchester was. All the angels knew of him and his family, which at this point included Castiel, the traitor. Anael huffed about it as she made her way into her apartment. It was a small place since she didn't need much room, and the ever immaculate kitchen was a room she never stepped into. She had artwork of nature that verged on abstract hanging on her pale yellow walls, and the hardwood floors were perfectly polished.

Anael didn't really need a place of her own, but she liked having somewhere to keep her clothes and shoes and jewelry that she'd spent a great deal of money on. It was nice to have a home base, even if she didn't need the bed she kept just for show in case she ever had any visitors over. In the few years she'd been on Earth no one had visited her apartment since she strictly focused on her business and not relations with humans, but it was nice to lie on sometimes as she contemplated her next moves. She set down her purse on the cream-colored couch, and hung her coat up by the door. Then she went to lie on her bed and stare up at the ceiling, imagining she could see Heaven, as she thought all this over.

She knew what Heaven was doing. Of course she knew. The angels hadn't cut her off from angel radio. They didn't care about her, probably didn't even know she was around. If they did, it didn't matter to them. She was practically a nobody to them, just a soul-counter with ideas above her station. It was why she enjoyed her work on Earth so much; she made herself useful to people, and she got generously paid for it. Anael didn't much care that she was helping humans. In fact, she only saw them as people she could take advantage of, use to get what she wanted.

So if she met up with Dean she'd have to get something out of it.

But what could he possibly offer to her? He was a Winchester. He didn't make business deals, just focused on killing.

A killer. What could she get from a killer?

But she didn't have much opinion on what the angels were doing to that boy Jack. If it needed to be done, it needed to be done.

Of course, the angels had tried to rope her into their schemes a few times, but no serious attempts had been made. She just wasn't important enough to them, even now, when Heaven was dying.

Maybe Heaven should die. With souls released to Earth, many of them would become vengeful spirits, and humans would get hurt. A lot of humans. They would go to her, and in the chaos that would take over, she'd become one of the most important beings around.

They'd need her like they had never needed anyone. They'd need her even more than the large, oaf-ish hunters who thought they did good work. It'd be impossible for them to wipe out so many spirits, so all that pain would leave people running to her.

Perhaps she should help Dean.

But she wouldn't do it for free.

Or maybe she should help the angels, gain their favor, rise in the ranks, and use the souls for what she wanted. The idea was rather enticing.

However, she knew what they wanted her for, and Anael wasn't sure she'd be comfortable with it. Lying with a Nephilim had never been anything she'd thought about, and carrying his child was the last thing she was interested in.

Perhaps she could reach out to Dean, see what he had to offer, and then try bargaining with the angels. Whoever presented the better price would be who she'd work for.

Anael was glad she had yet to take her shoes off, because now was the best time to head out if she wanted to meet with Dean.

The Winchester better not be a waste of her time.

* * *

Dean had told Castiel of the prayer he'd sent to Anael, and Castiel thought setting up a time and place to meet had been a very good idea. Hopefully she would show herself.

Even though there was nothing more they could do for the night, Dean was pacing, and Castiel was trying to clear up the mess he'd made.

It was an hour later when Sam came back, soaking wet, rain pattering away at the roof of the motel. He was shivering, and Castiel went over immediately, fingers out, to heal him, but Sam brushed his hand away, grabbed a change of clothes, and went into the bathroom, slamming the door.

"Should we leave him be?" Castiel asked Dean. "I'm worried about him."

"Sam's always been more of an introvert, Cas. I'm sure he'll come to us when he needs us."

"But he _does_ need us," Castiel argued, sitting down on Sam's bed in order to be closer to Dean, who was sitting in the chair he hadn't destroyed. "We all need each other." He sighed before adding, "Jack needs us."

The water for the shower turned on, and Dean groaned before joining Cas on the bed. He put a hand on his thigh.

"Look, we're doing what we can." Castiel opened his mouth to argue, but Dean went on, "I know it's not enough. Nothing's gonna seem like enough, not until Jack is back and safe with us, but we have something. We just gotta worry about Anael now. She's the piece we need."

"I don't know her that well," Castiel said, "but she's most likely going to want something in return for her work."

"Like what?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I'll think it over. Should probably get to bed."

"I'll watch over you," Castiel offered.

Dean had already stood up and waved his hand as he trudged over to his bed. "Dude, we talked about you doing that."

Castiel felt rejection from Dean's words, though he did somewhat understand his point. Humans needed their privacy, even while in cramped quarters like this.

"I'll just be outside then," Castiel said as Dean began to take off his shirt to change into his pajamas.

His friend grunted in acknowledgement, turning away from him to undo his pants, and Castiel left the motel. He stayed on the porch where an overhang shielded him from the falling rain.

Half an hour passed, a surprisingly agonizing half an hour in which he pictured what was happening to Jack, and then Sam was joining him outside. The younger Winchester had thrown a jacket on over his pajamas, and his hands were in his pockets.

They stood in silence for a bit, enjoying each other's company before Castiel asked, "Where did you go?"

Sam shrugged, head tilting down to look at the wooden panels beneath his feet.

"Away."

More silence, and then: "I prayed to Jack. Don't know if he even heard me, but I just had to try something, you know? Let him know we're coming for him."

Lightning struck, and was followed by a rumbling in the sky that made Sam flinch. Castiel frowned at his best friend's reaction, but didn't question it. Sam was really sensitive right now, even though he didn't entirely know why. If Sam wanted to tell him it was up to him. Castiel couldn't make Sam do anything he didn't want to.

He stepped closer to him, and put a hand on his arm, knowing both Winchesters were fond of physical reassurance.

"There is some hope," he told him. "We have a meeting with an angel tomorrow, at noon. She might be able to help us."

Sam leaned into his touch, but asked, "Why are we even bothering with an angel? I bet she's just working for Heaven." The hunter let out a dark laugh before adding, "She probably won't even show up."

"We can't think like that."

"I'm pretty sure at least one of us should be realistic. She won't show herself, and we'll just have to wait until the angels are ready to give us the kid back. If they're ever going to."

"But, Sam, I thought you wanted to do something."

"I do!" he exclaimed, rounding on him. "You think I want him to be up there with no hope? You think I just want to give up on him? I don't! He _needs_ us, Cas, but the angels, they're… they're too smart, too powerful. They have _all_ the cards. Just face it, this plan's not going to work, and we're not going to get him back until… until he's been raped a thousand times or more. We _lost_ him. He's been taken from us, and we're completely _helpless_!"

If Dean had been the one breaking down like this Castiel knew he would turn and kick something, but Sam didn't do that. Instead the intense anger and fear that had been in his eyes and on his face fell into despair, hopelessness. Castiel put a hand to the back of his head, fingers curling in his hair, and pulled him into a hug. The bigger man's arms were around him immediately, and his chin was resting on his shoulder.

"We're not helpless," he told him. "This will work. You'll see. We'll save Jack."

Castiel wasn't even sure if he believed his words, but he knew they were what Sam needed to hear. They were what he needed to hear.

He patted Sam's shoulder as he pulled away from him, and then Sam was back to slouching, his hands in his pockets.

"Cas…" he began, but then he clenched his jaw, and swallowed roughly. Castiel looked upon him with big eyes, wondering what was so hard for his friend to say. "Cas, I'm gonna tell you something, and you have to promise to never tell anyone, okay? Not even Dean. He can't know. Not until… Not until I'm ready… If I'll ever be ready."

"Of course."

"I…" He cut off and tilted his head to the side, adam's apple bobbing up and down with his emotion. "God, this is so hard to say." Sam took in a huge breath of air, and then forced out, voice weak, as if he didn't want the words to be real, didn't want to know they were real, "I kinda know what Jack's going through."

Castiel frowned, taking a step back from Sam, not processing this revelation. Was Sam saying that…?

"It's… It's why I was puking on the side of the road the other day. It's why… It's why I ran off, it's why I can't deal with any of this. I can't deal with the fact that… that someone who called me _father_ , who looked to me to protect them is going through what I went through. I… I failed him, Cas. I failed him."

Sam gazed at the space between them, unsure, but had yet to meet Castiel's eyes. Castiel was beginning to think that his first reaction to take a step back had been hurtful, so now he took a step forward. He put a hand on Sam's shoulder, and his friend let him keep it there.

"You didn't fail him. If anyone failed him, it was me. Sam, you don't have to shoulder the blame for this. And… and…"

"It's okay, you don't have to know what to say. I'm sorry I said it. Probably just ruined the way you look at me, right?"

"No, no."

Sam pulled away from him, and then turned his back on him.

"I'm… dirty. Guess I deserve a kid who's just the same."

Castiel grabbed his arm and yanked on it, turning him towards him. Sam yelped, but still refused to meet his eyes. He tried pulling back slightly, but Castiel knew it wasn't out of fear, so he held fast. He tugged, pleading.

"Look at me. Sam, look at me."

His best friend met his gaze, hazel eyes solemn and filled with hurt, with regret, fear, hatred, disgust, all welling up inside him so much he looked like he was going to explode.

" _You_ are _not_ dirty. Ever. None of you is. None of you ever has been."

Sam huffed out a laugh. "You sure about that? You've called me an abomination before."

Castiel stepped even closer. "And I was _wrong_ to say that, and it was unbelievably incorrect. I hurt you, and I didn't want to hurt you. I _don't_ want to hurt you. Look, you don't have to tell me about it, you don't have to tell me who did it, or what it was like, but Dean and I, we can take care of you, too. We'll get Jack, and we'll take care of both of you.

"Jack is going to need you, Sam. I hate to say it, but… but because of… of all this, he's going to need you more than he'll need us. You'll be the one to explain things to him."

Sam shook his head.

"I-I-I don't want to. I shouldn't have to. I shouldn't! None of this should be happening to him!"

"But Sam, it _is_ happening to him."

His friend began shaking his head. "No, no, no, no, no. No one else. No one else but me. He doesn't deserve this."

"And you didn't deserve it either, and I don't want you to think you did."

Sam was averting his gaze again.

"Sam? Sam."

He bit his bottom lip, and then looked upon him, tears streaking his cheeks.

"You didn't deserve it. Tell me you know that."

"I…"

He shrugged, and then he was pulling away from him again, making to go inside.

After a sniffle he got out, "Look, I gotta get some sleep. We'll… We'll talk tomorrow."

Sam went inside, and Castiel was left alone, feeling incredibly useless.

Sam was hurt.

Jack was being hurt.

And Castiel couldn't do anything.

Sam was only able to sleep thanks to pure exhaustion, but he was so keyed up with tension that his body was aching the next day, feeling very reminiscent of having the flu. Speaking with Dean and Castiel was difficult, especially Cas. He found himself shying away from him, unable to look him in the eye, but the angel gave him his space. He couldn't believe what he'd told him last night. Sam wanted nothing more than to go back in time and slap himself. Maybe he should just slap himself anyway. It was stupid of him to tell Cas. Why would he tell anyone? It wasn't important, it didn't matter. It was disgusting, and no one wanted to hear about it. But he knew Cas would stay true to his word, and wouldn't say anything to Dean.

Sam felt guilty about that, that he could tell a friend, but not his own brother.

But… But Dean… He just wasn't equipped to hear it. After all, Sam had seen the damage he'd doled out to the motel room because of his feelings about Jack. His brother would completely lose it if he found out that had happened to him.

So he stayed quiet, and kept to himself, only really talking when needed. It was awkward being left alone with Castiel in the motel room while Dean showered, but Castiel had thankfully put on the TV, probably hoping to distract himself. Sam found that he couldn't focus on it, it was just background noise.

They went out to breakfast, Castiel watching with a stern gaze as Sam and Dean forced their food down. Dean took to it more than he did, declaring that he'd missed eating. He'd ordered so much it seemed like he was now planning to overeat to cope with everything.

Sam said nothing. He didn't have it in him to try and get his brother to stay healthy. They were all disasters at the moment. They just had to do what would keep them going, or else Jack would never be safe.

They were in a different diner at noon, one that was across town, and in Sam's opinion, decorated more nicely. The colors were less harsh, more calming and peaceful. They picked a table near the window, hoping Anael would recognize them as any supernatural being did, and they waited, not even able to sip at the water that the waiter had poured for them.

Every time the waiter came close they waved her away, telling her they were waiting for someone. She was a young woman, who seemed to not like that they were sitting there without ordering anything.

Dean eventually gave up and ordered himself a sandwich and fries. A few minutes more, and Sam gave in and ordered himself a salad.

12:30 and Anael still hadn't shown.

Sam supposed they'd just have to keep ordering to give her more time as they waited for her to show.

But as he ate his salad, which was tasteless in his anxiety and despair, Sam began to think she wouldn't.

While they were picking at the extra order of fries they ordered, and Dean was waiting on a milkshake, something caught his brother's eye. Sam turned, trying to see what had him so enraptured.

At first it took him a few seconds to pinpoint who or what his brother was looking at, but then his eyes fell on a tall, thin but still-curvy, woman with wavy, chestnut hair and a heart-shaped face. Her pouty lips were drawn into a determined line as she made her way over to them.

Sam glanced at Castiel as a question, and his friend nodded.

So this was Anael.

Castiel scooted further into the booth to make room for her, and she sat down beside him.

Anael was dressed with much more color than any angels he'd ever seen, and she even had jewelry that glistened in the lights of the diner. She didn't take off the navy blue overcoat she had on, signaling that she wasn't planning on speaking to them for very long.

Sam reached his hand out to her, trying to be polite, as he began to introduce himself.

She cut him off, and said curtly, in a high-pitched, but still lovely voice, "I know who you are."

Dean unceremoniously choked on a fry, and Sam glanced at his brother, eyebrows raised, but then looked back to the angel. He pretended to ignore Dean's cheeks were a little red, either from embarrassment, or from being in the presence of someone who he found attractive. Castiel seemed uncomfortable to be sitting next to Anael, was nearly jammed against the window. The other angel was pretending to not notice.

"I know what the angels are doing to the Nephilim-"

"His name's Jack," Castiel cut in, tone harsh.

"Jack, Nephilim, doesn't matter to me what he's called."

"Then why are you here?" Dean asked after wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"I want to cut a deal."

"Wow, how very demonic of you."

Anael gave them a smile, while heat flashed in her almond-shaped eyes.

"I'm a business woman, boys. I like to get paid for my work. You want my help? You're going to have to give something in return. And I don't come cheap."

"Why do you even want money?" Castiel asked her.

"Let's see," she began, "I was only a soul-counter in Heaven, I fell, and while the other angels had completely lost their purpose, couldn't see past their ambition to get vessels, I saw an opportunity. I wanted more. Is that so wrong of me? You wanted more, too, Castiel, or else you wouldn't be with these hunters. What are they to you anyway? Pets? Boyfriends?"

Anael gave them a teasing smile at that, and Sam blushed at the suggestion. Dean was doing the same. Really, he wanted to get angry, knew his brother most likely wanted to, but she was almost as beautiful as Ruby.

"Family," Castiel answered, making it clear he wanted it to be left at that.

The other angel shrugged as if it didn't really matter to her, and then asked, "So what do you want me to do?"

"We want you to get into Heaven," Dean said. "Get to Jack, and if you can, get him out of there."

She sat back in the booth, and made it look as if she was somehow taking in all three of them.

"And what do I get in return?"

Now the three of them were left looking at each other. As much as they'd tried to discuss this part over breakfast, they hadn't come to any conclusions.

"What do you want?" Sam questioned.

"New car, new house, different president," she joked.

Sam rolled his eyes, but then Anael answered honestly, "I'm sure you couldn't reach my price. I heal people for a living now, and I make them pay three-hundred dollars. What you're asking me? That's way above my paygrade, so you better be related to some millionaire I don't know about."

"We can get you the money," Sam lied.

Well, he was only partially lying. It'd take a good deal of work, lots of system hacking, and he figured he'd be up all night doing it, sweating as he hoped he wouldn't get caught. Already he was planning it out in his head. He'd have to take from multiple banks all over the country in order to not be found out. It wasn't something he'd ever considered doing, wasn't something he wanted to do. But surely they'd all have to end up making sacrifices to get Jack back.

"Oh, this one's reasonable," she said, favoring him with a much more charming smile than the ones she'd given them earlier.

Dean and Castiel shot him confused looks, but Dean quickly recovered.

"Yeah, we'll get you the money. How much you want?"

"Hmm…"

She made a show of pulling a notepad and pen out of her purse. She scribbled a number down on it, and then pushed the notepad across the table to Dean.

His eyes bulged when he looked at it.

"The tall one said you can get the money, so you better get it."

"That's, uh… that's a lot."

Castiel reached over and grabbed it to look, and then he passed it to Sam.

"Five-hundred-thousand dollars?" he exclaimed in a harsh whisper, still trying to be discreet while shocked.

"You're asking me to betray my own kind," she explained. "Not like this'll be a walk in the park. Besides, as Castiel surely knows, the angels have their ways of making us cooperate. I'll have to do some of what they want me to-"

"Don't touch the boy," Dean growled at her.

She raised her hands, letting them know she'd keep away. Still, Sam eyed her with suspicion. What if this was all a trick? Just a way to get money while she helped the angels reach their goal.

" _Like I was saying_ ," she went on, "I'll have to make it look like I'm working for them, get past guards, security measures, get to the Nephilim, and then somehow get out. I was going to go on vacation soon, wasn't planning on spending it like this, so I deserve that money. And don't think I don't know what Heaven wants him for. I know very well, and from my point of view, they're being reasonable."

Sam clenched his jaw as he felt heat rise up in him, disgust swirling his stomach - oh god, he was really starting to regret eating.

"Go," Dean ordered coldly, no longer seeming to find Anael as attractive as he had before.

"They're doing what they think they have to," she explained.

"That doesn't mean it's right," Castiel told her. "You know it's not. Anyone would know it's not. They're perverting their very nature by doing this. They're… They're acting like Lucifer."

Anael smirked. "From what I hear he's not so bad."

Sam was bristling, unable to think properly, unable to speak. He didn't want to give this angel money, didn't even want her helping them.

But it was all they had.

"If you lay a finger on Jack," he forced out, his voice rough and menacing from the emotions taking him over, "don't think we won't find you."

"Fine, I believe you." She took her notepad back, and wrote some more information on the page before ripping it out and giving it to them. Then she stood, putting her purse over her shoulder. "Get me the money tomorrow, boys. If it checks out, I'll go to Heaven, no delays. Shouldn't be too hard since the angels think they need everyone in a female vessel. And don't worry, I won't touch your Nephilim."

Anael left, and Sam was staring at the paper with her number on it and the wire transfer information.

He picked it up, and crumpled it before putting it in his pocket.

Dean's milkshake was brought over, but the three of them left money on the table and left.

They had a lot of work ahead of them, or at least, Sam did.

Hopefully Anael would do her part.

* * *

Jack was led by a white-haired angel whom he'd never met before to a room with a chair that had cuffs. He was calm as he let her put the cuffs on him, calm as she blindfolded him and then others he couldn't place walked into the room.

That calm shattered as a spike was put into his head, and he heard talk of Nathaniel having made a mistake in showing him his wings.

They were going to make Jack forget his wings.

Pain and panic flooded him, blood flowed, screams left him, tears trailed down his cheeks.

 _My wings! My wings! My wings! I want my wings!_

He tried calling upon them, didn't even really know how.

Voices shrieked in his head, piercing his skull, driving into his brain just as the spikes and the drill did.

In a matter of minutes, he forget what had even been worrying him.

Jack smiled as the spikes left his head, and he was allowed to heal.

The angels were taking good care of him.


	10. A New Friend

**A/N: I actually don't ship Anael and Jack, but this atrocious chapter happened anyway for some very important plot reasons. I apologize in advance.**

* * *

For their plan to work with meeting up with Anael, Sam had to stay back at the motel to wire transfer the money over to her on Dean's command. Dean felt bad for his brother. He'd been up all night acquiring the money, and he'd called Anael once he was half-sure the police wouldn't come knocking on their door. The meeting had been set up. It was much more discreet this time, at an abandoned mill.

Dean was anxious to see the angel again. She was pretty, but he didn't like her. He had wanted to like her once he'd set eyes on her, but that was only because she was pretty. But she was more than that. She knew what she wanted, and she didn't care if others got hurt to get it, even if they were innocent or not. Dean couldn't stand with someone like that. He'd done it too many times with Crowley, and he'd told himself no more relationships with shady people. He was just glad he had Castiel with him, who didn't seem charmed by her good looks at all.

They reached the mill sometime in the morning. There was a dried up and dusty streambed that ran around it, and a rickety bridge that Dean didn't chance taking the Impala over. He and Castiel got out and walked, approaching the dilapidated brick building, gravel crunching beneath their feet. It was windy, but the sky was clear, not a cloud in sight, leaving it a brilliant blue that didn't fit his mood.

Dean was mad at it.

He supposed he was just trying to find things to be upset about instead of… Yeah, he couldn't think about that. That poor kid. It was tearing his heart out.

Anael was waiting for them just inside the main entrance, dressed as fashionably as she had been the day before, and Dean couldn't help giving her a once over before mentally scolding himself.

Maybe he'd get drunk later to deal with all this shit.

Yeah, that sounded good. Forget Anael, forget the angels, forget about the kid for just a little bit, fill up his hurt with a sweet burn in his throat.

But not until later. Right now he had this to deal with.

Anael smiled at them, the smile of a businesswoman trying to put her clients at ease, and Dean played along and smiled back. Castiel looked as stoic as he always did while going about their work.

"You ready to do this thing?" Dean asked her.

She stepped forward, heels clicking on the stone floor as she answered, "You give me the money and I'll set up a meeting with the angels."

"Tell the angels first."

"Why does it matter?" she asked sweetly. "It's not your money, is it? I know you boys couldn't have that much."

"Then why make the price so steep?"

"Betraying my own kind, remember?"

Castiel cut in, "Anael, just contact Heaven. Tell them… Tell them you'll do it, you'll help them."

"Fine."

"But _don't_ touch my son," he warned.

"Yes, you've made that _very_ clear."

Anael closed her eyes for a few seconds, and while it looked like nothing was happening, with closer observation Dean could see her eyes flitting back and forth underneath closed lids, like she was processing information.

She inhaled, and then opened them.

"They're going to open one of the gates and come down to meet me soon. Castiel, it was Cael I spoke with. I don't know if you remember him - always a bit rude, really, but he gets the job done."

Dean shot a glance at Cas, and Cas was looking back at him, worry in his eyes.

"He's not in charge of this, is he?" Castiel asked.

"No. Duma is."

Castiel clenched his jaw at that, but said nothing more. Clearly there was something there that Dean didn't know about. Was Duma worse than Cael? Or was she not a good leader, leaving room for Cael to take over?

Dean didn't know. Heaven's politics were something he didn't care to keep up with. But if it was going to affect Jack, Castiel would let him know later.

"Dean, I did my part. Now it's your turn."

"Alright, alright," he grumbled, getting out his cellphone.

He dialed Sam, and put the phone to his ear. His little brother picked up immediately.

"Sam, send the money."

His brother said nothing until a few seconds passed, and then he confirmed, "Sent."

Dean hung up, pocketed his phone and said, "Alright, Anael, you're paid."

"I'll meet with the angels, tell them I need to think about their offer first, and if I get my money within the twenty-four hour window, I'll do your job."

"No, you go with them now."

"Sorry, sweetheart. No money, no job."

A growl left Dean, and before he could even react, Castiel had his angel blade out and was lunging at her. He slammed her down to the hard floor, straddling her, silver blade flashing against her throat.

"You're going to do what we say _now_ ," he snarled.

She'd cried out upon falling, but she wasn't even struggling now, just asked, "Or what? You'll kill me? I'm afraid you can't do that. You need me."

Dean wasn't at all fazed by Castiel's actions - in fact, he understood them perfectly, and wished that he was the one with the blade to her throat - so he stepped forward to stand by her head and look down at her. Her chestnut hair was fanned out against the stone floor, and her brown eyes flicked to Dean.

"We can still torture you," he told her. He leaned down, getting close. "As I'm sure you know, I'm adept at it. So do as we say and I won't have to start instructing Castiel here where to put his angel blade."

Castiel's grim expression faltered, but Anael was too busy looking at Dean to notice, and Dean leaned ever so slightly closer to Castiel, a silent signal to tell him to just go with it. Dean wasn't actually prepared to torture Anael, but he'd do what he had to to get Jack back. He'd do it for Castiel, for Sam… for himself. He missed the kid and knew he didn't deserve what was happening to him.

But he understood Castiel's hesitation. Anael was an angel, just like him. He'd be torturing a sibling. Really, Dean would make sure he'd be the one to do it, but Castiel was in the more threatening position at the moment, trapping her to the floor.

"You wouldn't," she snarled, almost like there was a dare in her voice, trying to figure out exactly what kind of person Dean was.

Dean reached out and ran his finger along the angel blade, pressing it closer against her throat, making sure the edge nearly pricked her skin.

"Oh, I would," he told her. "I've tortured souls, Anael. I hated it, I _still_ hate it. But moral of the story, I really know what I'm doing, so if you don't want to lose your voice screaming, you'll meet with the angels, and you'll go to Heaven _now_. And you will get Jack _as soon as possible_."

She didn't protest this time, saw the intent in Dean's eyes, the warning. He didn't want to hurt her, but dear lord, he certainly would if he had to.

Anael's eyes went back to Cas, then to Dean again.

"Understood." Apparently trying to get some dignity back, she then said, "Now, Castiel, if you would kindly get off of me so I can help you, that'd be great."

Cas glanced at Dean one more time, and Dean, who now stood to his full height, nodded. His friend let her up.

Anael straightened her clothes, and as she was fixing her hair, Dean gave her a smile he hoped was full of sass, and said, "Pleasure doing business with you."

Anael shot him a snarky look in return, and then Dean and Castiel were leaving.

"I hope this works," Castiel prayed.

"It'd better."

* * *

Jack couldn't figure out what the schedule with the angels was. Sometimes he'd have playtime, yet he still wasn't allowed it with Laila. He didn't know why, but that was okay. He preferred Tamiel since there was this thing that she did with her mouth that was fun, but he also liked the way Ariel pet his hair. Duma had tried playing with him, but something had made her nervous, and Jack had tried his best to comfort her, but she'd withdrawn from his touch. It hurt, made him feel like he wasn't wanted.

Between the playtime, there was bath time, the various meals he was fed, the angels slicing carefully at his neck while telling him he was a good boy, and time in the gardens. Jack was there now. Nathaniel was with him. Cael had been present at first, but there had been something that had drawn him away, something that seemed important.

Jack still wasn't allowed to play with Nathaniel, and it bothered him. Did Nathaniel think he wasn't fun to play with? He tried to touch him to let him know he didn't think so, but that just ended up with his hands being swatted away.

So now Jack was doing something else to show he cared.

He was making crowns out of flowers. One completed one already sat atop his head, to make sure it would fit properly. He was going to make one for each of the angels he met: Duma, Nathaniel, Ariel, Tamiel, Laila, Naomi (he'd learned that that was the name of the white-haired angel who had brought him to the weird room). He was sure there were others, but he didn't know all of them. Maybe he could make extras. But Cael wouldn't be getting one. Jack didn't like Cael, and Cael knew it. Jack saw it in the way he watched him, like he was worried he was going to suddenly hurt him, or like he was some uncooperative dog. Jack wasn't quite sure how he knew what a dog was, but he must've seen one when he was with those bad humans on earth. Maybe one of them had liked dogs.

Jack had figured out how to make the flower crowns on his own. He'd asked Nathaniel if it was okay to pick a lot of flowers, and he assured him it was, since he wanted Jack to be happy.

He sat cross-legged on white marble tiles before a giant pond, that somehow had a fountain in the middle of it that shot up towards the sky, spraying the water down like droplets of rain. Jack still didn't know the names of the flowers, save for the rose, but they were pretty, and he was trying to make a rainbow with the crown he was now working on.

Nathaniel stood by him, back against a tree, calmly watching him with his hands in his pockets.

"Jack, tomorrow's going to be different."

"What do you mean?" he questioned before furrowing his brow, focusing on threading this orange flower's stem just right.

"I can't tell you, but… the other angels think it's best we try something new."

"Something new? Will I get to play with you?"

Nathaniel didn't answer, so Jack tilted his head towards him, letting him know that he was waiting. He seemed upset, features drawn low, eyes slightly bigger than normal.

"No, Jack. I'm… I'm sorry. It… It was my idea. I shouldn't have said anything. But we need you. Do you understand that?"

He nodded.

Nathaniel came forward and got on his knees before him, gently taking his hands in his. Jack wanted to object, wanted to go back to making the flower crown, but his grip was firm, even in its softness.

"Jack, I want you to know that what I'm doing isn't out of cruelty."

"What do you mean? You've done nothing wrong."

The angel's face fell, and he told him very intently, "Just get through tomorrow, Jack. I… I asked to not be present during… during it. But I will be with you after, and I can take care of you."

Fear settled in Jack's stomach, and it didn't feel right. He wasn't supposed to be afraid of the angels, but he liked and trusted Nathaniel. What had he done? What were the angels going to do to him? Why? Would it hurt? Jack didn't want to hurt.

Showing him that he understood, Jack leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Then, he took his hands back and continued working on the flower crowns.

Nathaniel went to stand by the tree again, staring wistfully out at the pond. One of the many balls of light that floated through the garden, twisting their way through the trees, billowed over the pond, it's light casting upon the water, making the falling droplets shine like golden tears, rainbows casting themselves upon the ground. Jack sat too far away for any of that light to touch him.

* * *

Cael and Duma were the ones who went to meet with Anael. They'd let her come to one of the closed gates of Heaven, and now they were all standing by a massive old oak tree, the gate open and shimmering in white and silver allure.

"You decided to help after all," Cael stated.

Anael nodded. "Heaven's dying, and I may not care about some of the angels that are left," she directed her gaze at him on her last words, letting him know that he was who she spoke of, "but I care about the souls. I don't need them falling to Earth."

"Yes, so you can do what you wish with them up in Heaven, is that it?" Cael asked.

Anael crossed her arms.

"Let's be reasonable about this," she began. "You're asking me to lie with a Nephilim and to carry his child. I have no loyalty to you, so what will you give me in return?"

"Anael, please," Duma begged. "We need as many angels on our side with this as we can get."

"Then make Cael get a female vessel. Make all of them get female vessels. Problem solved."

"No, Anael. The… The Nephilim. He's… We're not quite sure how to fuse his seed with his Grace, how to make it fertile."

"And you think I can help with that?" she asked.

They knew of her healing skills, and already she was thinking of various ideas that might work. Though, the Grace was the tricky part. Last she'd heard, there had to be intent behind it. It had been like that when Lucifer had raped the Nephilim's mother. Anael understood his reason for doing it though. He wanted power. She hoped, wherever he was, he wasn't going to get mixed up in this, not unless she could use him somehow, but she was already playing two sides. Playing a third would be stretching herself too thin.

"Perhaps," Duma responded. "But Nathaniel has come up with a plan. We'll be trying it tomorrow. In fact, his plan will make all of this much easier for the angels who refuse to touch the boy. You wouldn't happen to be one of them, would you?"

She knew she'd have to get close to Jack to do as Dean wished, and she knew she wouldn't be able to do that unless she complied. Anael didn't have a choice. She'd just have to worry about the Winchesters and Castiel coming after her once their boy was safe.

"No, of course not. I'm sure he's a very sweet child. I would love to spend some time with him. I'd like to study him as well, if that's allowed."

Dean hadn't asked her to do that, but why would Anael pass up a chance to get up close with a Nephilim, to figure out how he worked?

"But… I won't do it for free."

"Fine," Duma agreed, and then went on, clearly knowing where Anael's interests lay, "You will have access to a few souls as well. Will that be sufficient?"

 _No,_ Anael thought.

"Yes, I'm sure it will be."

She couldn't push her luck for now. She was going to be granted access to the Nephilim, and that was what she needed. But Heaven's bargain wasn't so bad either. She would play them as well, try and get more souls to work with. Anael had other ideas about how to save Heaven, but her brethren were too weak to see it. She'd show them, while doing as they asked.

They smiled at her, though Cael was clearly faking it, and they let her into Heaven.

* * *

She was shown to the Nephilim's quarters, though he wasn't there - apparently they let him into the Garden of Eden, something that Anael thought was a _terrible_ idea. But there were guards there. Thankfully, none of them had proved themselves to be like Gadreel, but they had greatly dwindled in their number. In fact there was only one guard for the area of Heaven Jack was allowed in. He had a bedroom, and a bathroom, all in a stark white. The poor child must've been bored out of his mind with the scenery. There was another room Anael was shown to, and she stared at it with big eyes, wondering what her brethren were even thinking.

"Was this Nathaniel's idea?" she asked Duma once it was just the two of them.

"Yes."

"And you're alright with it?"

There was a pause before she answered, "Yes."

Anael didn't press her further.

She'd been amongst humans, laid her hands on them daily to heal them, knew what they were like, but this human thing was very odd to her, very alien. She could guess its purpose, and she felt sorry for the poor boy. Still, she understood that this was what had to be done. It could work. Potentially. Either way, she would just have to play the part for now, ease into it, maybe become the part if she so chose. Anael was going to be swimming in riches and power when she was done with this whole ordeal.

After being shown that room, she was taken to the Garden to meet the boy. Nathaniel greeted her with a nod of his head, and let her approach Jack. Duma watched from about twenty feet away, under a bone-white gazebo.

Anael knelt down in front of him, placing a smile on her face. It was hard not to - the boy had a flower crown on his head, and had some by his side. He didn't look up at her, focusing on the flower crown in his lap that he was nearly finished with.

"Hi, Jack," she greeted.

Probably noticing that her voice sounded different from other angels, he finally looked up. His deep brown eyes brightened upon seeing her, and he smiled - a big, genuine smile.

"Hello."

"I'm Anael."

"It's nice to meet you," the boy told her before going back to his flower crown.

She sat down beside him, looked at Nathaniel to see if she was doing well, and with a nod from him, she leaned closer. "How are you?"

Jack shrugged, also looked at Nathaniel, and then said to her, "I'm doing good."

There was truth in his eyes, in his words, but it was a false, erroneous truth. It wasn't real. It was what the angels were making him think.

Anael knew to do what the Winchesters wished she'd have to break through that somehow.

"Do you know why I'm here Jack?"

"Are you going to play with me?" he asked.

Anael blanched at that. _That's_ how they were getting him to cooperate? Not just with the the brainwashing and the torture, but with manipulative words and fake kindness? She knew the angels were doing what they thought they had to do, but she hadn't known they were twisting words so much, that they were _lying_ so much.

Still, Anael went along with it, doing her duty.

"Yes, Jack. Would you like that?"

He nodded, not looking up at her, concentrating very hard. He finished twisting a knot with some stems, and then he lifted up the flower crown to her.

"May I?"

"Of course, dear."

With a smile he put the flower crown on her head.

Jack led Anael around by the hand as he gave a flower crown to Nathaniel, and then Duma, and then Anael was the one leading him out of the Garden, his other flower crowns in tow. He told her he was going to give them to some of the other angels: Ariel, Tamiel, Laila, and Naomi.

It was a sweet gesture, and Anael didn't think he deserved to be lied to. He should know what they were using him for.

But did she have it in her to tell him?

She'd tell him about his family, but she knew they were being watched. Anael was going to have to do what she had sworn not to, what she didn't truly want to do. Besides, she'd been on Earth awhile, but she'd never done this before. It almost made her nervous.

* * *

Jack had his hands on Anael's waist as he backed over to the bed, and she followed with him. He sensed hesitation from her, and he didn't know why. Playtime was fun, and he was going to show her, just like the other angels had shown him.

"It's okay," he told her. "You'll have fun."

She swallowed hard, perhaps a nervous gesture, but then she smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. Jack slid her coat from her shoulders, and then pressed his hands curiously against the fabric of her shirt, lifting it up to expose bare skin. He leaned down and kissed her neck, tugging her closer to him.

He wanted her to relax, realize this was supposed to be fun. Anael was breathing heavily as he took her shirt off of her, the flower crown toppling to the floor. He continued undressing her, sitting on the bed, having her stand before him. Jack could undress himself later. He was glad that now without the chains he was able to take his clothes off for this. It felt easier, more natural, and less rushed and sloppy.

She seemed to be easing into it, leaning against him as he kissed her stomach, running her hands through his hair. But Jack wasn't sure if he'd have to teach her how to play. Funny that she didn't know.

It was a problem he could think about later. Right now was just play.

Jack hooked a leg around her and rolled, his own flower crown toppling off, so that she fell onto the bed on her back, and he was holding himself above her. Anael laughed in surprise, but she still felt so tense. He kissed her, hoping that would help. She really was very pretty. Already he was liking her more than his other playmates.

In no time he had the rest of her clothes off, and after some gentle coaxing, she was doing the same for him. Jack was happy to be with her, and he smiled as he kissed her, smiled as he tasted her skin.

Jack still didn't understand the female body, didn't understand the male body, but he knew it felt easier when his partners were having fun. So he did what he'd done to Ariel when he'd been curious. He was still curious now, didn't understand how it all worked. Anael eventually seemed curious too, letting him touch her, learn her, and she began to do the same with him.

It was brilliant once he was in her. Jack really loved playtime, loved how it filled his core with a wonderful fire, a fire that traveled up to his belly, making him blissfully lightheaded. He loved when he heard and felt his playmates react to how he was playing. Jack still wasn't entirely sure if he was doing it right, but he liked how the bed bounced and shook, liked the motion. There was something intense about it too, which was why he sometimes liked to roughhouse with his partners. He couldn't help himself, and found him doing that with Anael. She was just so pretty, and her legs were wrapped around him, and she was kissing him, and crying out into his mouth, letting him know she was enjoying herself.

At one point Anael seemed to get a handle on what was going on and she rolled so that she was on top. Jack didn't mind the break, was breathing heavily and sweating, his face, neck, and chest all red.

Anael above him was a sight to behold, all curves and soft, wonderful skin. She was holding Jack's hands as they played, their fingers intertwined, and he squeezed hard, letting her know that he appreciated her company, her touch, how beautiful and sweet she was.

Each movement of her body was mesmerizing, and Jack's mind felt alight with bliss, so ecstatic he could feel something stirring in him. He didn't know what it was - maybe it was his Grace, though the angels had never taught him about that - but he liked it. He liked it a lot. Anael was sucking along his jaw, and Jack had his head tilted back, giving her access to his neck. She went slowly at him, no longer the rough movements that he enjoyed, but he realized he liked this too. He felt everything so much more, paid more attention to how she was flush against him, to how he was inside of her.

Jack felt her teeth graze his skin, and it sent a thrill through him that had him arching his hips upwards, delight coursing down in between his legs from where she was trying to mark his skin. The mark would heal, but she seemed insistent, was now biting him, nibbling, voice leaving her as she did so. He fought her handhold, letting go of her, so he could hold her body to him, hug her and know that she was making him happy. It wasn't enough for Jack, and he ended up sitting up. She seemed startled at first, but then she was moving again, and Jack was rocking up into her. Their mouths kept brushing together, almost meeting, and Jack brought his tongue out to try and trace her lips.

He tried to focus more on bouncing on the bed, since that was really very enjoyable, but he ended up slipping out of Anael. They both ended up laughing from it, and then Jack was rolling again. He wanted to try something different, so he put her ankles over his shoulders, and leaned forward. She didn't protest, so he must not have been doing anything wrong. Jack was curious to know what other ways to play existed. He couldn't possibly think of all of them. But she held onto him more tightly when he entered her this way, pressing her legs back against her chest. Jack wondered if he'd be able to do that with his body. He didn't know.

He felt something from Anael, felt it reaching out to him, and she was glowing, her eyes a brilliant blue. Jack felt power surging through him, felt it in every cell in his body, like he was truly alive for the first time. His shoulders began to burn in a pleasant way, and he let that feeling take hold of him, fill him, just as he filled Anael.

Before he could reach the inevitable end of playtime he felt screeches in his head, felt them drilling deep down into his brain, and he fell, pulling out of her, holding himself above her with shaking limbs. Jack was crying out, whimpering, and the power in him died. The power he'd felt reaching out from her died, and she seemed distracted as the brilliant voices yelled and screamed in great chiming clangs.

Anael untangled herself from him, and pressed his head against her chest, her arms and legs wrapped around him, rocking him gently. He felt like his skull was being split open.

Jack wasn't having fun anymore.

Anael laid Jack on his side, still holding him to her, whispering soothing things to him as she stroked her hands through his hair.

The voices stopped, and he was left shaking, clinging tightly to her, not wanting to let go, fearing that if he did the voices would return.

It was the angels. He knew it was the angels.

He'd done something wrong. He'd upset them, and he couldn't figure out what it was.

Was he not supposed to enjoy playtime? He didn't understand.

Anael took him into her hand, stroking him in between his legs as she continued to murmur soft things to him. He felt the pressure he associated with this current activity, felt the heat once more, and then he was inside Anael again, with her putting him there this time.

Their play was soft now and he did it till he reached his end, once again feeling that odd, but pleasant sensation of something leaving him.

"Jack, I have to go," Anael said.

"No, no," he moaned, clutching her.

He felt lonely when they left him afterwards, felt like they didn't actually like playing with him.

"Jack, it's okay. I'll be back. I just have to discuss something with the other angels. I wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't really important. We have to talk about adult things, okay? I'll come back to you after."

Reluctantly, he let her go, and he hoped she was telling the truth when she said she'd come back.

* * *

Anael hurriedly dressed. She'd been sore, but it didn't last long, healed rather quickly, and she didn't mind. She was doing what she had to to get Jack to trust her. This was how she'd get him home, and this was how she'd get souls.

She went to the room where she knew at least one of the angels had been watching them.

"What were you thinking?!" she yelled at Cael, and Nathaniel who whirled in surprise upon her entrance. "I almost had it!"

"The boy can't know he has wings, and can't know of his powers," Cael explained.

"No one's going to get pregnant that way!" she argued. "Are you both idiots? I was _trying_ to do what you enlisted me to do, what you're giving me souls for. And you screwed it up. I was _so_ close, and you stopped it. You hurt him."

"Who cares if he's hurting?" Cael asked.

Nathaniel chimed in: "We've been over this. He'll be less cooperative that way."

Nathaniel brushed Cael aside and went to Anael. "Go back back to him," he told her. "Try to fix our mistake. See how much he understands about what happened. We might not need to get Naomi involved with this."

"Yes, I noticed her handiwork."

"So you disapprove of our methods?" Cael asked.

"I don't think they're exactly proper. But if it must be done."

Anael didn't exactly approve of Naomi's tactics. She'd been a loner before, but she'd seen angels fall prey to Naomi's drill. But it hadn't bothered her much until now. Maybe she'd learned a bit about free will while on Earth. Maybe Lucifer was right to turn away from all this, to rebel. Maybe Castiel was right.

Anael didn't know. Her head was spinning from everything, and she no longer knew whose side she was on.

She just knew she had two jobs to do. Go back to Jack, and comfort him, find out how much he knew.

And tell him of his family.

So she went to him. He was still naked, didn't seem bothered by it at all. She wondered if he'd even spent enough time with humans to learn much about their ways. But perhaps he could tell something was wrong. She'd felt it in the way he'd held her, like he was trying to grasp at something he couldn't reach or even remember.

So she let him hold her again, let him hug her to his chest and play with her hair. It made him smile. A sweet, innocent smile, and it left her confused.

Anael knew she only had moments, that the angels could figure out what she was doing, so she pulled away from Jack and made her mouth level with his ear. Her lips brushed against him accidently, and he giggled, a painstakingly innocent sound.

"Jack, the other angels aren't good. They've been messing with your head. They're hurting you, Jack. Using you. You have a family. A different family than them."

"What are you talking about?" the boy asked.

To silence him, Anael kissed him, and he leaned into it, humming pleasantly.

Then she murmured, "Jack, please. They're in your head. You have to fight them. Your family - their names are Sam, Dean, and Castiel. They sent me here to save you. You're going to be saved."

"Saved?"

Anael kissed him again, and tried to put insistence into it, letting him know her words were important, that he had to think of them, that he had to focus.

"Sam, Dean, Castiel," she whispered. Then she ruffled his hair. "Pretend I didn't say anything to you. Laugh."

There was slight realization in Jack's eyes, like maybe she was getting through to him, and then he laughed.

Relieved that he'd be thinking on what she'd said, Anael rested her head against his bare chest again, and he continued playing with her hair.

Then the guilt took her.


	11. I Don't Like This Game

**A/N: TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains self harm, though it is not depicted graphically.**

* * *

Jack thought of what Anael said as she continued to talk to him. She asked him strange questions about their playtime, trying to figure out what he'd been doing. He didn't know what she was getting at, or what she was trying to get out of him, but he stayed wary with his answers. He remembered Ariel saying that he could be heard. Jack was still greatly confused by all that had happened that day, by what Nathaniel had said, by what Anael had said about Sam, Dean, and Castiel, so he tried to be discreet. He wasn't sure he knew how to very well, wasn't sure he knew how to lie, but whenever he felt unsure about an answer, he'd follow after what she had done and get playful with her, hiding his voice by making her giggle, having his mouth against her ear.

What he said must've been right because she didn't suddenly leave, and she didn't kiss him to make him be quiet again.

She did leave after awhile, and Jack was alright with that. He was rather distracted.

He'd been with three humans on Earth. That much he knew, and Anael said they were his family: Sam, Dean, and Castiel.

Sam. Dean. Castiel.

He liked those names.

The rest of the day was uneventful, and Jack tried to think on who Anael said his real family was. There were three figures in his mind, and he wanted to go to them even while his stomach turned in knots thinking about them.

They were bad.

No, they were good.

The angels were good.

But what Nathaniel had told him…

The angels were bad.

Or they were going to be bad.

He didn't understand, and he was so tense that he ached. The aches didn't grow worse, but he continued to be tense as he healed, so Jack was in pain all over.

Sometime during what must have been the night, when the lights in his room were out, he found his flower crown, and ran his hands over it, feeling the shape of the flowers, the stems, letting it prick gently at his skin.

His throat was tightening, confusion making tears build in his eyes. A lone tear trailed down his face as he put the flower crown back on his head and sat in the dark, completely alone, and missing people he didn't know.

* * *

The next day the angels took Jack to the Room.

Afterwards, he was completely still in his bathtub, hugging his knees, Nathaniel carefully cleaning him, telling him it was alright.

But Nathaniel didn't know. Nathaniel hadn't seen.

Jack hadn't seen.

He'd been blindfolded.

And then…

He shuddered.

He didn't want to go back to the Room ever again. He was exhausted from it, hurting, feeling like part of him was missing.

He could barely remember what had happened to him. There was just… the Room. The Room and its horrors, and the chains.

Jack wanted to hate Nathaniel. It was his fault. It was, it was, it was! It was his idea. He'd said so.

But he'd warned him.

No warning could've prepared him.

Jack was empty, and hurting, and he just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. He didn't understand. No part of him understood.

"Jack, I'm sorry," Nathaniel told him again.

He was healing, could feel it, but for some reason his body still pained him, each second hurting, making him slowly slip into an uncomfortable darkness. The lights in the room dimmed, and brightened, as they often did.

Was he even helping Heaven?

Were they even his family?

Who was his family?

Did Jack have a family?

He thought of his mom again. He wanted to see her. He wanted to see his mommy.

Jack wanted to tell Nathaniel, but the words didn't want to come to him. No words came to him. Each time he tried to think of something coherent to string together, his mind went back to the Room, aching and throbbing with intense fear, drilling into him just as his family so often drilled into his head to take care of him.

He wondered if they would do so now. He didn't understand what it was they did, but it made him happy when they hurt his head, and he wanted them to do it again.

He closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks.

The Room, the Room, the Room.

"Breathe," Nathaniel instructed, rubbing the soapy cloth over his back. "Breathe."

Jack inhaled, the breath shaky, not realizing he'd been holding it.

"It's okay. You're alright."

Jack couldn't say anything to tell him he wasn't.

"Duma told me you did well today, Jack."

Had he? He didn't know. He hadn't done anything. The angels had done something.

They'd done something he couldn't even fathom.

Something wrong.

Why had they done a bad thing to him?

"Do you understand what happened?"

Still, he was incapable of speaking, of sharing his mind with the angel who so gently cleaned him and spoke to him. It was soothing even though this was all his fault.

"Jack."

When he didn't respond, Nathaniel draped the cloth over the edge of the bath, and took Jack's face in his hands, turning him to face him. There was something in Nathaniel's eyes, something that stung. Was it guilt?

"Can you tell me what happened in your body?"

He blinked at him.

There'd been… something. Something different. It made him think of his time with Anael, but he couldn't understand it. His mind didn't want to think further on it. There was a wall there, an impenetrable wall that was thicker than he could imagine, miles high, and spreading out in each direction, black, and blank.

"Jack, if you can replicate that we won't need to do that to you again. Do you understand?"

He pulled out of Nathaniel's grasp.

Jack just wanted to go to sleep.

Nathaniel finished washing him up, continuing to apologize, to tell him he didn't want this for him, to tell him that he was alright, that he'd done well, that he was a good boy.

Jack didn't feel like he was a good boy.

He didn't even feel like anything.

It was a relief when he was finally able to collapse into bed; body, soul, and Grace alight with pain.

* * *

Anael had been forced to be present for what they'd done to Jack, and if she was a human, she knew she would've thrown up. It was too awful for her to even think back on. But the method had worked. They'd extracted what they'd needed from him.

To prove her loyalty, Anael was the first to have it placed in her.

But that was only after she'd been allowed time with some souls, and had been allowed to have some more to study. Souls were powerful, and one of her ideas involved consuming them, making the angels become a super race in order to keep Heaven going. But she knew she was being watched, so she didn't take any into herself.

Currently, she was watching Jack's mother. She was a little girl in her Heaven, endlessly playing with her dog and wandering around beautiful gardens.

If she was to take a soul into herself, she would spare this one, if only for the boy.

Another presence joined this Heaven. Duma.

"Anael, it's time."

She turned away from Kelly, and followed Duma out of her Heaven, not ready for what was about to happen to her.

* * *

The whole process was awkward and uncomfortable, but Anael knew what had happened immediately, felt it in her very core, in the essence of her being, like a brilliant declaration of life. It had worked.

Jack truly was going to save Heaven.

* * *

Jack was no longer allowed playtime. Instead it was always the Room. Just the Room. They told him it was a game, but he didn't like that game. It was a bad game, but Jack couldn't tell them that. He no longer had a voice with which to speak. Well, he did, but his mouth would barely open, and when it did, no sound came out that could be called language. He just watched everything with baleful eyes, trying to understand why the angels were making him play this game every day.

It was exhausting. Jack felt like he was being beaten into the ground, worn ragged.

He no longer wanted to eat, or drink, could no longer sleep, and when he went to the Garden he simply sat down and stared at the plants, no longer taking comfort in them.

He'd broken his flower crown, snapped it in half over his leg. He'd managed to distribute the others, and sometimes he saw Ariel, or Tamiel wearing them, even Nathaniel.

Nathaniel had tried giving Jack his flower crown after seeing he'd broken his own, but Jack couldn't accept what wasn't his.

The days wore on, and Jack lost count of it. Every few days he was brought to Naomi, and she put her drill in his head.

That always made Jack happy for a few hours. But then the Room would return, and three figures stayed fixed in his mind. Three men.

 _Sam. Dean. Castiel._

It was a chant he had going on in his head. He chanted it during his time in the Room, he chanted it at meals, during baths, before he fell asleep. It permeated his dark, aching dreams, the light that shone from it hurting him.

Jack didn't know who was his family anymore.

Anael came to see him.

Her belly was bigger, and he didn't understand, but he found himself kissing it, leaning his head against it, running his hands over her.

None of the other angels' bellies had done the same thing, and he didn't understand. But Jack didn't know how to ask her about it. Many of the angels had stopped seeing him, had stopped talking to him.

His days became the game he didn't like. He wanted to tell them he didn't like it, and at night he was screaming it in his head, screaming for them to stop playing that game with him.

But they didn't.

Cael had an unnerving smile on his face whenever he saw Jack, and it made him think that he was the one playing the game with him. But he knew many of the angels liked to play with him, so they'd probably each had a turn with their twisted game.

Except Nathaniel. He couldn't see Nathaniel doing that, though he'd suggested this game himself.

Why didn't they stop it? Couldn't they see he didn't like it?

Did they even care about him at all?

He forgot all that when he was with Anael. His visits to the Garden with her were the times he actually walked around. He'd hold her hand, or have an arm around her, holding her close. Jack still liked to kiss her, still liked to marvel at the oddness that was her growing belly.

She'd speak to him of Sam, Dean, and Castiel. Reminding him, over and over again, till her words were something Naomi's drill couldn't reach.

Jack was quite sure that weeks had passed, and Anael was in the Garden with him now. He fiddled with a rose, letting the thorns cut into his skin, as she tried to feed him nougat.

"Jack, you need to eat. You're not like us. You need food."

He shrugged. It was easier to show what he was feeling around her, but still, language was lost to him.

"Please, just a bite. For me."

Obediently, Jack turned to her and opened his mouth, and she popped a piece of nougat inside. He chewed and swallowed, the whole process mechanical. There was no pleasure on his tongue, no taste that could save him from the dark wall in his mind. She ruffled his hair, and he smiled at her, though he could feel that it didn't reach his eyes. She fed him some more, and then Jack was rewarded by getting to play with her again.

No screaming voices took over his head as he played with Anael in the Garden, and she seemed to enjoy his attentions.

This was a game that Jack liked. Not the other one. The other one was mean and hurtful.

It was strange this time. It was like he'd left his body, was watching himself play with her. It was an experience that Jack didn't quite enjoy, and felt like something was very wrong, so he played with her harder, hoping he'd be drawn back into himself from feeling her warmth around him.

Still, he remained watching, confused, lost.

One of her legs was nestled in between his, and her other leg lay over him. He had a hand in her soft chestnut locks, making sure her face was close to his. Jack could see her eyes from where he watched the two of them, could see something that didn't make sense: sadness. Their bodies were locked together side-by-side on the springy grass, the sound of a fountain drowning out the noises of their play, and she was constantly changing how she held him, her hands on his arms, his back, his hair, his face. She kissed him softly despite their rough play, and it tasted like an apology.

Jack was drawn back into himself when he felt her rhythmically tightening around him, body arching into him, eyes closed, mouth open.

He stayed still, hugging her, telling her with his touch that he had her, that it was alright.

Jack hadn't had this happen during any of his play sessions before, hadn't seen or felt someone's body do what hers was doing now. Part of him worried he had done something wrong, but she felt so good around him, so he just buried himself deeper, hoisting her leg up around his hip. Her nails dug into him as uneven breaths left her, and Jack kissed her face as she experienced whatever this was.

Anael smiled at him afterwards, a tear on her cheek, and Jack wiped it away with his thumb. Unsure as to whether she still wanted to play or not, Jack remained still. She was the one who got them moving again.

Jack could play for long periods of time now, and he realized that day that he could play more than once.

Once he'd finished playing with her for good and had straightened the same drab gray clothes the angels always made him wear, he lay down beside her, hand rubbing over her belly. He didn't know why she was like this, but he found it beautiful and wondrous. Though, he'd seen how some of the other angels looked at her, and they seemed… disgusted. Why would they be disgusted with someone so beautiful?

"Do you know what this means, Jack?" she asked, hand resting over his. She waited to see if he would speak, but then went on, "It means I'm going to have a baby."

A baby? How? Why? Who was the father? Jack had so many questions. Did the angels not like that Anael was going to be a mother? Why shouldn't she be?

"I'm sure they're going to be a very beautiful, and powerful baby."

He just smiled at her, hanging on every word, not sure how any of this was happening or why.

"The other angels will have babies eventually. But I'm the first one. They want to make sure everything goes smoothly."

Jack frowned at her words. Something could go wrong? He wrapped a leg around her at the thought, wanting to protect her.

She stroked a thumb over his cheekbone, before running that hand into his hair.

"Hey, it's okay. You're very sweet, Jack, and it's kind of you to be concerned. But I'll be fine. The baby will be fine. This is just a very delicate process. The angels don't want to take any chances."

Silence, and then, "Do you remember what I told you about your family? Sam, Dean, and Castiel?" She went on as if he responded that he had, saying, "I want you to try and remember them. I have to leave tomorrow. There have been things happening, Jack. The angels had promised me something, but they're no longer delivering. So I have to go. Besides, your family has been very insistent in their prayers that I meet with them. I'm supposed to bring you, but I can't get you out yet."

Get out? Why would Jack have to get out. Get out where? Of Heaven? Why would he leave his home?

But why would his home be where his family wasn't?

But were they even his family?

"I'll come back, Jack. But for now, you're going to have to be brave for me. You have to take care of yourself, okay? Stick with Nathaniel as much as you can. Keep eating, keep drinking. Try and get some sleep. You need to be healthy."

Jack didn't like what she was saying, didn't like that she had to go away, didn't like that she wanted him to take care of himself. He was too worn out to do that, too worn out to do anything.

Maybe he'd just let the angels play their awful games.

They spent more times in the Garden together, Jack still as silent as ever, though he put flowers in Anael's hair, and she laughed when he did so. It filled him up with some of the life the Room was stealing from him.

And he thought of Sam, Dean, and Castiel.

 _Sam._

 _Dean._

 _Castiel._

* * *

"Where are you going?" Cael asked Anael as she walked down one of the many halls of Heaven. The ights dimmed as she turned to him, and without even thinking about it, she protectively put a hand over her stomach.

"Nowhere," she lied.

The angels didn't want her to leave. In the weeks that had followed her baby's conception, Anael had become their prisoner as well. She was their property as long as she was pregnant, and they'd shown it to her by not allowing her to visit the souls anymore. She wasn't allowed to study them, not allowed to do anything with them.

Really, she shouldn't be so surprised that the angels had gone back on their word. They were nothing but backstabbing lowlifes now. They'd do anything to keep Heaven alive, even make a child become a father against his will.

She'd bonded with Nathaniel, and realized that he was one of the only ones who looked out for the boy. The liking a few of the angels had seemed to have for him had faded once they'd implemented their new method.

Jack no longer looked like the sweet, healthy boy who'd been making flower crowns in that Garden weeks ago. It'd been precisely twenty-two days since he'd spoken. He'd utter sounds sometimes, sounds of displeasure, or with her: pleasure. So he didn't talk. He was pale, gaunt, his once beautiful eyes haunted. Jack could survive for quite a long time like that, but she could see his ribs, the sharp lines of his hip bones, the bumps of his spine. He wasn't taking care of himself, had lost the will to, and she'd heard from Nathaniel that it was common for him to hurt himself with the thorns on the roses. He'd dig them into his skin, scrape at himself, make himself bleed. He'd heal, and then he'd do it again, leaving no scars behind, except for the ones that surely lay on his mind.

While lying with him again in the sheer, desperate attempt to make him happy, Anael had looked upon him with her own Grace. Jack's Grace was weaker, failing him, an ugly, bruised pulsating thing. It pained her that it had come to this, that he showed his wear from his treatment inside and out. It wasn't right. He wasn't even a year old.

Nathaniel would take care of the boy as best he could, but she had to go.

She'd be back to finish the job, felt more than obligated to now.

Still, she couldn't ignore her own treatment, and she couldn't ignore the prayers of Sam and Dean.

"Actually," Anael corrected, steeling herself, "I'm going back to Earth. I've had enough up here."

"You can't leave," Cael told her, coming forward briskly, making Anael step back.

"I can, and I will."

She turned from him, continued to make her way to the entrance. Hurried footsteps followed, and before she could react, Cael was grabbing her wrist, and forcing her to face him.

"No you will not," he fumed, eyes dark and dangerous.

"Do not make me put you in one of our cells. I can put that disgusting boy in there next to you. I'm sure he'll screw you enough to keep you entertained."

Anael tried pulling out of his grip, but couldn't, and she made a sound of effort as she struggled.

"I am pregnant with the Nephilim's child," she declared. "You will unhand me."

As if to spite her Cael put another hand on her, this one on her bicep, making it so she couldn't hit him.

She let out a yell and let her Grace flare through her. Cael's grip slipped from her immediately, and he went flying down the hall, falling to the floor.

Anael turned and took off at a run. If he wasn't close to her he wouldn't dare using his Grace and risk hurting her. Cael had stressed the importance of her pregnancy, almost more than Duma, to the point where it'd been disturbing.

Apparently carrying a Nephilim's child wasn't something that took long because in three weeks, she was big. She wasn't absolutely huge yet, but she looked like a human woman would near the middle of her second trimester. Still, her vessel's body was strong, especially fused with her Grace, and Anael was able to make a run for it without any more problems. But she knew she'd have Indra to face at the gate.

If she didn't get past him she knew she would be thrown in a cell, and her whole mission would be over. Jack would be theirs for eternity, and her life would consist of birthing his children.

Indra was standing before the gate once she left, ten feet from the giant oak tree this one was near.

"Hi," she greeted him with a smile, trying to make it look like everything was alright.

"Anael," he greeted with a nod.

His vessel was particularly handsome, tall, with dark, dark skin, and white teeth that flashed when he spoke.

He stepped forward, "Aren't you supposed to stay in Heaven?"

His tone wasn't menacing, merely concerned, so she lied, "Yes, usually, but Duma is getting sick of me. I love Earth, you know? She decided to let me back for a little while."

She nodded at him, and then started walking away, already fingering her phone where it lay in her pocket so she could call the Winchesters.

She'd been in Heaven so long she figured her car had been towed, and she'd need a ride. Hopefully they wouldn't be able to smell the Nephilim on her. It was truly the first time Anael wanted to shower. Not because Jack himself was disgusting, but because all of this was, what the angels were doing. Their plans were working, and it was ugly and she was sick of it, sick of herself. Anael needed to wash it all away.

"Really, I should go with you," Indra offered. "It's not safe for you to be out alone."

"Indra, it's fine," she told him, turning back to him. "I'm pretty sure I can handle myself. And shouldn't you be guarding Heaven?"

"I can get someone else to guard it. Cael - I'm sure he'll be happy do it."

Anael heard Indra contact Cael in Enochian, using angel radio, and she took off, phone out, dialing Dean.

* * *

Sam, Dean, and Castiel still hadn't gone back to the bunker. Without knowing what else to do they'd continued hunting, but did their best to always stick to the area where they knew one of the gates was. Anael had let them know of its location before she'd gone up to Heaven. It was in Montana, up in the mountains. There were lots of vampires, wendigos, and werewolves around the state, a few vengeful ghosts as well, so it kept them busy.

But they hardly talked to each other anymore. Only thought of Jack who was with the angels, and their mom who was with the Devil.

Sam worried about his mom. Not knowing what was happening to her was difficult, but not as difficult as knowing what was happening to Jack.

Three weeks. It'd been three weeks, and he still wasn't with them.

Three weeks of rape.

Sam felt sick every second of every day, and he wanted to talk to his family about it, wanted to talk to Castiel in particular, but they only spoke about business now, only talked about the cases. Jack's name had hardly been uttered in two weeks.

They just didn't have it in them.

Sam, covered in blood that was not his own, just finished driving a silver blade into a werewolf, when a phone began to ring. He recognized it as Dean's. His brother was behind him, also covered in grime, and Castiel was as well.

Dean looked at the caller ID, and raised his eyebrows in alarm. He showed Sam and Castiel, and Sam felt he could hardly breathe when he saw the name _Anael_ on the screen.

Dean picked up, put it on speaker.

"Hel-"

Anael's panicked voice interrupted them as she yelled, "Dean, I need your help! I'm near the gate. Hurry!"

She hung up, and they were left standing there amongst the filthy werewolf den, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Then, as if on cue, all three of them scrambled for the entrance, heading towards the Impala to go get Anael.

Sam prayed that Jack was with her, but he didn't pray to the angels, didn't pray to God. He prayed to Jack, his son.

* * *

Far away, up in Heaven, Jack heard him.


	12. Toys

Heaven was in an uproar. Cael and Indra had gone after Anael, who was fleeing on foot, though she had clearly made a phone call to Dean Winchester, and Duma had just sent Tamiel and a handful of angels after her as well. Nathaniel was sent to guard Jack.

For a minute or two he had stood outside his room, but from what he was getting over angel radio, it was clear that the danger was outside of Heaven, and not inside.

So he went into Jack's room, hoping that all the talk between the angels wasn't disturbing him. He found him hunched over on his bed, head in his hands. Though their voices weren't directed at him, he was apparently still picking up on it. He flinched when Nathaniel sat on the bed with him to rub his back, but otherwise did not move.

"Jack, everything's going to be just fine."

Even as he said it he knew it wasn't true.

Indra and Cael had caught up to Anael, but the Winchesters and Castiel were there now, all armed with angel blades. The others weren't far behind.

Perhaps all of them could be taken prisoner, but he wasn't sure how cooperative Jack would be then. Already he could feel their hold on him slipping. He didn't know what it was, or how, but Jack knew something.

He decided to keep it quiet lest Naomi work on him again.

Though Nathaniel didn't wish to be in the midst of a fight, he wanted to be down on the ground, wanted to see what happened. Did he want Anael to escape? Did he want the angels to recapture her? Did he want the Winchesters and Castiel as prisoners?

Whatever the outcome, Nathaniel was sure he wouldn't be happy with it. He no longer trusted that what he was doing was the right thing, but Heaven was dying and there was no other way.

No other way.

That was probably what all the angels were telling themselves, though Cael clearly got sick joy out of all this. He'd seen the way the other angel looked at Jack, seen the way he looked at Anael once she'd become pregnant with the Nephilim's child. This was fun for him, brought him some sense of happiness that Nathaniel couldn't understand, and didn't want to.

Angel radio grew quiet as he stayed with Jack, who was now hugging his knees to his chest, and all Nathaniel could do was wait.

* * *

Anael had run out into the middle of the road, and Dean had nearly run her over. They'd barely begun to argue about the fact that she was clearly pregnant when two angels caught up to her. Castiel had his angel blade out in a flash, and Sam and Dean grabbed their own from the trunk.

"Why are you protecting her, Castiel?" Cael asked from where he stood, just by the road, Indra beside him.

Anael was behind Sam, Dean, and Castiel, hands over her stomach protectively, and Castiel wished to glare back at her, but he couldn't take his eyes off his enemies.

He was filled with something hot, pure, and volatile, and he knew it was meant for the angel behind him, the angel who had pleaded for his help and protection, but he directed it at the ones in front of him as well.

The angels were no family of his, not after capturing his son, not after what they'd done to him.

And Anael was living proof that their plans were working.

But more than that… She'd touched his son. The angels had touched his son.

Castiel had no answer to Cael's question. He still needed Anael, and the baby she carried didn't deserve any of the violence that was about to pass.

"This doesn't have to turn into a fight," Sam stated.

"Of course it does," Cael responded. "You're willing to protect that slut behind you, but we need her."

Dean clenched his jaw at the insult, saw the anger in his friend rising. Castiel could scarcely imagine how distressing this must be for Anael, but he had to put her out of his mind. They had to get out of here.

"Anael, get in the car," he growled.

"Anael, don't even think about it!" Cael refuted.

"Just come back," Indra pleaded. "We won't hurt you. We need you."

"You'll just lock me up," she responded. "Three weeks. Three weeks of doing what you asked, of carrying the boy's child, and you take away all that you promised me. You took away the souls. And don't think I don't know you haven't had me watched. You don't trust me."

"Anael, get in the car," Castiel repeated.

Cael and Indra were stalling. They had to be.

There was the sound of grass and dried leaves crunching beneath feet, and then four angels, all with blades out, joined Cael and Indra. He recognized Tamiel, who led them. She nodded his head at him in recognition, clearly not wanting to be on the opposite side of him, but feeling like she had a duty to the rest of her brethren.

"Cas, what do we do?" Sam asked, wild eyes taking in the other angels.

If they were human adversaries they'd have a chance, but up against six angels, they were completely helpless.

Castiel didn't have an answer. He was trying to think this over. The angels needed Anael, but they would lock her up, and she'd have no way of getting to Jack. They needed her to get into Heaven, needed her alive.

Unless…

It all dawned on Castiel. He knew what he had to do.

"Sam, Dean," he murmured. "Get in the car. Take Anael and go."

"What?" Dean cried. "We're not leaving you."

He grabbed Castiel, and Castiel shoved him off. "Get in the car."

He flared blue eyes at his friends, showing them that this wasn't up for debate, they swallowed roughly, and then they hurried towards the Impala. The angels rushed forward, and Castiel ran to meet them, letting out a vicious shout.

* * *

Dean had tears in his eyes as he drove away, and he could see Castiel fighting through one of the mirrors, saw him easily get disarmed, saw him get shoved to the ground, a blade digging into his thigh, saw him get beaten into submission. He lost sight of his friend through the trees, and then a tear fell. But he kept driving.

Anael was quiet in the back, subdued, and Sam had his hands curled into fists on his lap.

" _What the hell?_ " his brother snarled at the angel that was with them. The wrong angel. He'd gladly trade her for Castiel.

Dean wanted to shout at her as well, but words were lost to him.

Oh god, Cas.

"I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm sorry. I… I had to get close to him, and the angels, they… they wouldn't let me unless… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Just tell me he's okay," Dean forced out, as his mind played over Castiel getting stabbed in the thigh.

"He's… They've been messing with his head. I had to tell him who you are. He doesn't remember you."

Dean put more pressure on the gas pedal at that, unable to help himself, and the engine's steady purr transformed into a roar for a few seconds as it accelerated. It fit Dean's mood, and he bared his teeth.

He felt stupid, useless, and pathetic. He'd left Castiel all alone back there, Jack was still in Heaven, and they had Anael with them, who was most likely unable to do anything.

"We told you not to touch him," Dean got out. "We _told you_."

"I know, I know! But… I had to. I didn't want to."

"You fucking raped him!" Dean cried, taking a corner much too sharply.

Sam let out a startled "whoa!" before settling himself, turning back to Anael.

"Anael," he asked, "does he… Does he know what's happening to him?"

In the rearview mirror, Dean saw her shake her head.

"No. He…"

"Anael, you have to tell us everything," Sam said, sounding much more calm than Dean, though there was no denying how tense his body was, how his voice had just a hint of roughness to it.

"Sam, it's awful," she forced out. "They… They lie to him. Tell him that they're only playing."

"Are they feeding him? Is he drinking? Is he sleeping?"

"They're trying to take care of him, but… He's refusing. When I left he… He doesn't look good at all."

"Fuck!" Dean cried, the first word that came to mind. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_! You were supposed to get him out! Why didn't you?"

"I couldn't! The other angels watch him nearly constantly, and I was trying to play them, to earn their trust, but they were just using me! I thought I could do this, but I couldn't. I can't! He's stuck up there, okay? And I'm… Oh god, I'm going to have his child."

Anael was crying now, and Sam faced forward, jaw clenched, looking as if he was trying very hard to not do the same.

"We're gonna find a motel, and we're gonna fucking figure this out," Dean told them. "And Anael, we're gonna make sure you get marked up. The last thing we need is the angels tracking us down."

That was the only plan Dean could come up with for now. It was more than what he wanted to do, which was stop the car, drag Anael out by the side of the road, and beat her senseless. She'd betrayed them, but he'd heard honesty in her voice when she spoke of being used.

She was just another pawn to the angels, not a player.

But still, Dean couldn't calm himself. He pictured it, pictured Anael lying with their boy, and it made him sick. Sam was clearly sick from it as well, face green. Dean hoped this wouldn't end up with him having to pull over again while his brother puked by the roadside.

He kept driving. They'd get to a motel, they'd make sure Anael got a tattoo to hide her from the angels, and then they'd figure something out. They had to.

Jack wasn't the only one the angels had now. They had Castiel, as well.

Hopefully that was part of a plan and not some dumb sacrifice play.

 _Cas, I hope you know what you're doing,_ Dean prayed.

* * *

Castiel tried to stop the way his eyes rolled back in his head when he heard Dean pray to him, but he couldn't stop it, couldn't hide it, and he was kicked by one of the angels who was dragging him to Heaven's gate. He'd lost. He'd lost and was bleeding and he'd had his possessions taken from him. Now he was getting taken to Heaven, a prisoner.

But he'd wanted to lose.

This would get him to Jack.

This would get him to his son.

* * *

Jack was glad when the voices stopped crying out in his head, so now he could think about the prayer he'd heard, about the memories that had come rushing back to him. He had to hide them. If he didn't hide them, the angels would steal them, would steal them away.

The good angels.

No, the bad guys.

But the humans were the bad guys!

But they were his family!

Jack couldn't make sense of it, could hardly make sense of anything anymore. He didn't know what was going on, why Nathaniel was with him and seemingly trying to calm him. Wasn't he supposed to be in the Room? Usually they took him to the Room at this time.

He shuddered just thinking about it, impenetrable fear casting shadows over his mind, till he felt cold, and like there was a great darkness before him.

Nathaniel was no longer rubbing his back, and instead was now asking him questions in a calm voice, trying to get him to speak.

Jack didn't know how to speak. A few times he opened his mouth, but his voice was trapped inside of him.

At least this way it'd be easier to keep his memories to himself.

Jack wanted out, but the thought of being outside of Heaven scared him. He knew Heaven. Heaven was… Heaven was his home! It had to be.

Jack eventually grew annoyed of Nathaniel trying to speak to him, so he did what he knew how to do, what he knew he liked, and he kissed him. The angel tried to pull back, and, upset by this, Jack leaned forward, holding onto the back of his head.

Nathaniel's hands were at his chest, and he managed to push him away.

"We mustn't," he breathed.

Jack brushed his nose against his, mouth open, searching. He wanted to ask him why not, but still, language failed him. So he spoke with his body, climbing into Nathaniel's lap, and pushing him down on the bed. The angel rolled so that he was on top, and Jack smiled delightedly.

"No," Nathaniel told him, pinning his wrists down to the bed.

Jack didn't understand. When he said no to their horrid game, why did they still play it? Why was he not allowed to say no but they could? It didn't make sense to him. To Jack, that word was meaningless, so he reached up, and captured Nathaniel's lips once more.

The angel pulled his head back, growling, and Jack set to work kissing his neck. If only he could get these clothes off, but Nathaniel had him pinned.

"Jack, stop it," he ordered.

Jack didn't have to listen to him. They never listened to him. Besides, playing with Nathaniel would surely be much better than the Room. Even now, he shivered thinking about it, what happened to him in there too atrocious to comprehend.

"Jack, I don't want to play with you."

He shifted his hips upward against Nathaniel, felt good rubbing himself against him. Nathaniel was going to play with him. Were Nathaniel in a female vessel he was sure he'd be responding to him in kind, gyrating up against him, body warm and eager.

"This will not accomplish anything," he told him.

Not sure what he meant by that, Jack pulled back to look up at him, a question in his eyes. How could it not accomplish something? It was going to make him happy.

Nathaniel had his mouth open, tongue against his bottom teeth, just on the brink of speaking, but then Jack saw a change in him, saw him come to a decision. He leaned down and kissed Jack's lips.

Jack moaned into him, shifted up against him. Nathaniel was hesitant in his motions, much as his other playmates were with just starting out, so Jack tried to take it easy, tried to be gentle, not wanting to frighten him.

But he wanted to play. Oh, he wanted to play so badly. If only to erase the confusion he felt. The sensations were something he was used to, and he could fall into them, pretend that Anael hadn't left, pretend he hadn't heard voices slicing into his mind, pretend he hadn't heard Sam pray to him, pretend that he didn't know who was good or bad anymore. Jack didn't even know who he was.

Was he just some toy for the angels to play with?

Were they all his toys?

Nathaniel pressed himself down against him, pleasing Jack, who pulled his mouth away, tilting his head back in delight. Soft lips were on his neck, sending tingles throughout his body, making him feel awash in heat. He wanted to take his clothes off, but Nathaniel still held onto his wrists. He wasn't sure he liked it. It reminded him too much of the chains. He struggled against him, and Nathaniel let go, holding himself up with his forearms on either side of his head.

Jack started lifting his shirt up, and Nathaniel pulled back, giving him room to take his shirt off. Once it was off, he ran his hand over Nathaniel's torso, curious and playful fingers already beginning to remove his clothes.

Nathaniel took hold of his hand, and before Jack could make a sound to protest he was kissing his hand, and then up his arm, mouth moving to his collarbone. He pressed Jack down into the bed, murmuring that he was going to take care of him.

Jack gripped at him hard, wanting to rip through his clothes, wanting to have proper playtime, but Nathaniel was now kissing his way down his body, thumbs running over and over his nipples, making Jack feel even more pressure in his pelvis than before. He was so filled with the want to play that it nearly hurt.

Then Nathaniel pulled his pants down, and lowered himself to do that thing with his mouth that he liked Tamiel doing. He trembled, letting out a long exhale, hips arching up into him, making him take him into his mouth even further. Nathaniel lightly trailed his fingers down his body, making Jack's stomach quiver with excitement. He was all the way in him, and the sight delighted Jack.

He smiled down at him, one hand clutching desperately at his wrist, the other in his neatly combed hair.

Nathaniel's eyes met his, and Jack smelled something from him, something that might've been regret, hurt, maybe even disgust, and it turned his stomach.

But he soon forgot about all of it when Nathaniel began to bob his head up and down, simulating some of the feeling of playing. This was still playing, just not to the way Jack fully enjoyed it. He decided that somehow, he was going to end up playing with Nathaniel that way, to show him that he was worth playing with, to try and forgot the horror of the Room.

* * *

Castiel was taken to see Duma. She was in the throne room, though she stood by the magnificent white chair, clearly not seeing herself as worthy of sitting in it.

He was forced to his knees, and his hands had been bound behind his back with the powers of someone's Grace.

"Castiel," she greeted.

"Duma."

"I'm surprised at you, Castiel. Why protect Anael? After all, it's obvious that she lay with the Nephilim."

Castiel stubbornly kept his mouth shut, refusing to tell Duma of his deal with the other angel.

"He doesn't seem very talkative," Cael observed.

Duma waved her hand, commanding, "Leave us."

"But-"

"Cael, I told you to go."

He nodded his head at her, along with the other angels, and then they were filing out of the room.

Duma knelt down by Castiel and put a hand over the wound on his thigh, making him flinch, a whimper leaving him.

"Sorry about all this unpleasantness," she told him, healing him with hardly a thought.

"I expected nothing less," he responded, voice gruff.

He couldn't believe Jack was so close. He had to be. Somehow Castiel would have to get out of this room, get to his son, and get out. If Anael got out, he could too.

But as he'd been dragged to Duma, Cael had taunted him, had told him of Naomi - Castiel shivered at the mere thought that she was still alive - tampering with his mind.

Jack might not want to leave.

That truth hurt more than the stab wound in his thigh had, so he still felt like he was aching and bleeding, even after Duma finished with him. She stood, eyeing the throne, trailing one hand along it.

"God is gone, Castiel. So we have to do what we must to save Heaven. I thought you would understand."

"Duma, I… I understand wanting to protect the souls, I do. But there can be another way. Surely there is."

She swiftly turned to him, gaze serious as she said, "There's not. There simply isn't. We need him, and we're succeeding. Anael will give birth, and she won't be able to hide the baby from us."

"Is she the only one that's pregnant?" Castiel asked, disgust sitting in him so tightly he felt like he might implode.

"If you're asking if she's the only one who's lain with the boy, then the answer is no. Anael wasn't the first, and she wasn't the last. Even now, Nathaniel is with him."

"Nathaniel? What? Why?"

"To keep the boy happy, I suppose. Nathaniel is the best at reading him, at making sure he gets what he wants. He's more cooperative when he's happy."

"Yes, because people are their happiest while getting raped," Castiel replied sarcastically.

"Castiel, the boy has no idea. He simply sees it as playtime."

Castiel raised an eyebrow at her, trying to not let the anger simmering in him take control.

"And who's idea was that?"

"Nathaniel's. That one is simply full of ideas. Because of him we hardly have to touch your boy anymore, and because of him, Anael is pregnant."

"What are you doing to him?" Castiel asked.

"I would show you, but I know you won't approve. Really, I should just take you to the dungeon instead of wasting my time talking to you."

"Then why are you talking to me?"

"I want to see if I can persuade you to help us."

The lights in the room dimmed, and Castiel felt the energy lessen, nearly die, and he looked around frantically.

"Yes, Castiel," Duma said in the dark. "This is what's been happening to Heaven. It's dying. Your son can save it."

It was still dark, and he turned to her as he declared. "Let it die."

The room was bright once more.

"If it dies all the souls will fall to Earth, and chaos will rise. A new apocalypse will be upon us."

"Let it," he growled. "If saving Heaven requires you to abuse an innocent boy, then Heaven doesn't deserve to be saved at all."

There was grave silence before Duma said, "I'm sorry you feel that way."

She turned from him, and must have spoken over angel radio because now two angels were coming into the room and hoisting him to his feet.

They took him away to the dungeon and he didn't even get to see his son. His son who was being violated that very moment.

* * *

Jack didn't manage to play with Nathaniel as much as he wanted to, but he was content now, as he lay with him, pants up around his hips once more, running a hand through his hair.

"There, that's better now, isn't it?" Nathaniel asked. Apparently he'd noticed his distressed state, and had decided to take matters into his own hands.

It had worked.

Jack nodded.

The angel drew swirls on his chest, making Jack shift contentedly.

Jack sensed something different. He couldn't precisely say what it was, but it was as if Heaven was fuller somehow. He wanted to go out and explore, but he was sure that wouldn't be allowed.

Still, just to test this, he started getting up, grabbing Nathaniel's hand, and he nodded insistently at the door.

This ended with Jack in the Gardens, but he didn't want to be in the Gardens.

There was someone else in Heaven. Someone important. Someone very important.

Eventually, he grew so frustrated that he sat down and started crying.

Nathaniel tried to play with him then, and Jack didn't push him aside even though he wanted to.

The angel seemed rushed in his motions now, worried, intense. Jack liked this intensity, liked Nathaniel's strong grip on him, the way he sucked at him like he needed him.

Before long, Ariel was with them, and Jack brought his hand to her to play. She and Nathaniel were great with him, and soon he was inside Ariel, and she was bouncing on him, and Jack was holding onto Nathaniel as he kissed him.

Like this, Jack was happy.

This was much, much better than the Room could ever be.

And for now it didn't matter if the angels were bad guys or good guys, if Jack was a bad guy or a good guy. His family didn't matter, that tugging in his chest telling him there was someone important to see didn't matter.

The angels were playing with him again. Not their sick, twisted game in the Room. The game that they had taught him and kept him happy with for days, the game that he liked.

Maybe everything was just a game.

* * *

Nathaniel hated doing this to the boy, hated that violating him kept him happy and distracted. But something had happened in Jack's head that upset him greatly. Thankfully, there was no need to get Naomi involved since they didn't precisely know what was going on in his head. Jack's current inability to speak was protecting him.

Castiel was captured, and Duma knew of what he was doing with Jack. He was going to have to explain himself afterwards.

Cael was going to be sent out after Anael.

And Nathaniel's place was to stay with Jack, keep him their willing prisoner.

Tomorrow, it would be Nathaniel's turn to take him to that room, and he dreaded it. But for now he could kiss Jack and pretend he wasn't sinning so much that God would cast him deep into Hell after a single glance. God would cast all of them into Hell. And they would deserve it.


	13. Sweet Dreams

Anael had agreed to not heal her tattoo once she'd gotten it, though she didn't seem to like it much. Sam felt off having her do something to her body without her consent, but it was necessary. And she'd touched Jack. But she'd been used too… All of this was making him sick, so now he sat on the bed across from her in their motel room, trying to figure out what to say. Dean had handcuffed her to the bed, not trusting that she wouldn't run away, and Sam thought it was a great idea. He found that his eyes kept going to her belly, and she noticed, was now glaring at him.

"Just say something," she told him. "I can tell you want to."

Sam shook his head, and finally managed to get himself to turn away. All he could see in his head when he looked at her was Jack. Jack naked, Jack being touched. God, he hated this. He hated all of it.

"Forget it," he forced out. "It's not important. Dean, what's the plan?"

"We trade Anael for Cas and Jack?" Dean suggested, though the lift at the end of the sentence spoke of him not being too hopeful.

"They'll never accept such a deal," Anael said. "They want me, but they won't let Jack go."

"Are you the only one that's pregnant?" Sam asked slowly.

"Yes. But…"

"Others have… touched him," Sam finished, turning back to her.

She swallowed roughly, and nodded.

"What the hell are we supposed to do?" Dean asked. Then he was up out of his chair and pacing. "What was Cas even friggin' thinking?"

"If anything, he's closer to Jack," Sam began. "Maybe he can do something from where he is."

"They won't let him get near him," Anael told them. "Not unless he agrees to help them."

Dean leaned against the table, arms crossed. "So then why don't they just kill him?"

"They can't. The more angels there are the better. So they'll keep him around."

"What, and we're left here with you?" Dean asked. "That's just bullshit."

"Anael, is there anything you can tell us that might help us get Jack back? Maybe Dean can pray to Castiel, send him information."

She sighed, shifting on the bed, and Sam's eyes traitorously went to her belly again. Her eyes were on him, then Dean, and Dean also seemed to have been looking at her stomach.

"What are you asking me, Sam? What is it you really want to know? You keep staring."

"I keep staring because…" He ran a hand over his face. "Look, forget it. What do you know?"

"Why do you keep staring?" she repeated, more slowly this time.

"I don't know," Dean drawled, "maybe 'cause you fucked our son and got knocked up."

"I had to get close to him," Anael reasoned. "That was how I did it."

"We told you to not touch him!" Sam shouted, letting rage pour forth into him. He stood up now, leaning over her, hoping he seemed imposing. "What about that did you not understand?"

"Do you think I want to be pregnant?" she screeched at them. "I'm like this because your brother over there _threatened_ me. If I didn't go to Heaven he was going to torture me."

Sam huffed, and side-eyed his brother. "Dean, is that true?"

"We needed to get her to cooperate," he said, voice raised. "She wasn't going when I wanted her to, I told her what I'd do. That's how it is. You didn't have to fucking sleep with him."

"You don't understand!" she told them. "They're _all_ sleeping with him. By the time I got there it was nothing new to him. It was expected of me. He expected it of me. I… I didn't want to. He took me to his room, and-and he took my clothes off, and…"

"You know he didn't know what he was doing," Sam explained.

She looked away from them. "I know. He… He doesn't know. The angels, they…" Anael turned her gaze down to her stomach now, and Sam saw a tear fall. "I wish I could fix this. But… But they're doing more now. We don't have to lie with him anymore. I… I didn't even get pregnant when he slept with me."

Sam slowly sat down on the bed again, but shifted to the edge of it so that he was close to her. He could taste dread on his tongue, weighing it down like lead, but still he asked, "Anael, what do you mean?"

"I don't… I don't… It's awful, but please, don't make me tell you. I can't. I can't tell you."

"Anael, what do you know?" Dean asked, now coming over to her.

Now she was avoiding both their gazes.

"He doesn't talk anymore," she began quietly. "He did when I first got there." She smiled at some memory that they didn't have. "He was in the Garden of Eden, Nathaniel watching him. They let him collect some flowers to make a few flower crowns. That was when I introduced myself, and he gave me one. He was making one for all the angels. Except for Cael. Even with what Naomi's done to his head he doesn't like Cael. He was so sweet. He smiled at me, he held my hand. Even… Even in bed he's sweet."

"Please stop," Sam got out, feeling light-headed, an ache forming in his stomach.

But now Anael seemed lost in her own little world, "He does his best to make sure it doesn't hurt. It does a bit, of course - he really does have a lot of energy - but he cares. Even when he stopped talking I could tell he cared."

"Cut out the x-rated scenes," Dean stated. "Why did he quit talking?"

"We… What we did to him… I don't think he can handle it. It works. Physically it works, but it's killing him. Nathaniel told me he hurts himself, and I've seen him do it. He won't eat, won't drink, can't sleep. He has nightmares. He's wasting away, and still they keep doing it to him. His Grace is weakening."

"What are they doing to him?" Sam asked, wanting to reach out to her and shake her to get across how important this was.

"Please," she told them, head raised, tears trailing down her beautiful face. "Don't make me tell you."

"We need to know how to help him!" Dean argued.

"You can't!" she yelled back. "You can't. They're angels, you're human. You can't get to Heaven, and that's where he is."

"Would they bring him to Earth for any reason?" Sam asked.

To Sam's surprise, she nodded, and he looked at Dean eagerly, licking his lips, before directing his attention back to her.

"They have."

"Why? When was it?"

"At first they were worried with what they were doing to his head. It was before I got there. They took him down to Earth to have a doctor look at him."

"Would they do it again?" Dean asked.

"I don't think so. They let him heal on his own now when they… when they drill into him."

Sam closed his eyes, turning away, his throat aching.

He wouldn't cry. No, he wouldn't. He couldn't. Jack needed him to remain strong.

"But if he got hurt badly enough, and they thought it'd jeopardize their plans, would they bring him back down?"

"I don't think there is a way for him to get hurt like that. They'll just heal him. They trust what they're doing to his head."

"But you said you talked to him about us," Sam reasoned. "What if that leads to something?"

"It might, but they'll just operate on him again. It'll be like before. He'll heal, he'll be fine."

"He's _not_ fine," Dean said.

"You know what I mean," she shot back.

"Is there a way we could draw them out?" Sam asked. "The angels, they'll be looking for you, maybe we can use that."

"Use me as bait? No thank you."

"Can you still hear them?" Sam asked. "What are they planning?"

"No, I can't hear them," she informed them. "They cut me off from angel radio just like they did Castiel."

"So we got nothin'," Dean surmised. "Great. That's friggin' great."

He got up, grabbed his keys.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"To find the nearest bar. You get first watch. I'll relieve you when I get back."

Sam flinched when Dean closed the door, and then he was left all alone with Anael.

Sam had a question, one he felt was useless given the situation with Jack's head, but he had to ask anyway: "Does he miss us?"

"I think he does. He's lonely. Duma could send as many angels to him as he wishes and he's still lonely. Even with me. He really liked me, and…"

"Does he know?" Sam asked, eyes drawing to her belly again.

She saw where his gaze went, and was now looking down there as well. "That I'm going to have a baby? Yes. He was rather confused as to why I was getting so big. But he doesn't know he's the father. Jack doesn't even understand how I'm pregnant."

"Neither do I," Sam said, reminding her that there was still information she had yet to share.

"Yes, well, I wish I didn't know. I rather it had been from me sleeping with him. I was close, I was _so_ close. But then Cael hurt him, used angel radio, got into his head. Jack was in agony, he was shaking."

"I'm glad he wasn't alone," Sam said softly.

He knew he didn't like what Anael had been doing with him, but he couldn't direct his anger at her no matter how badly he wanted to. She wasn't the main problem here. All the other angels were. She was just another victim of their twisted ways, even if she had tried getting control.

"He's still not alone," she added. "He has Nathaniel."

"You mentioned him before. Is he… Would he be willing to help us?"

"I don't know. He's very protective of Jack. I… I think he loves him."

Sam grimaced.

"Not in that way!" she quickly corrected, shifting to the edge of the bed, handcuffs rattling. "He might want to help, but while Jack remains their prisoner, he remains with Nathaniel. I've seen him with the boy. I don't think he'd want to give him up."

Sam sighed. There went that idea. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see who comes after you."

Sam got up, and started going through his bags, finding a change of clothes. It was nighttime, but he was going to remain dressed in case they had to leave quickly. As he went through his things Anael questioned, "Can I shower?"

"Angels don't need to shower," Sam reasoned.

"Sam."

She sounded insistent, so he turned to her, and their eyes met.

"I need to shower. I… Before I left Heaven, I got Jack to eat a little, and he wanted a reward."

His stomach turned at her words, but really, Sam was used to being nauseous by now.

He went over and undid the cuffs, and Anael gave him a small smile.

* * *

Nathaniel was once again cleaning up Jack in the bathroom. The both of them had gotten so used to this, that Jack knew when to raise his arms, knew when to tilt his head back, knew the entire routine. Nathaniel observed him as he did so. The boy weighed less than when they'd captured him. It was awful, but he didn't know what he could do to get him to eat. Maybe he could reward him with sexual favors.

He swished his tongue around his mouth at that, still remembering Jack's taste. It hadn't been gross like he'd expected, had been very… _Jack_ , but he still regretted it.

"Jack, I'm going to have to get you to eat," he told him as he massaged his fingers against his scalp, lathering up the shampoo.

The boy lifted up his head, turning baleful eyes on him.

"You're dying like this, do you understand?"

Still that awful, empty silence.

"Jack, if you eat, I'll… I'll play with you again. And maybe… Maybe I don't have to take you back to that room. Would you like that?"

He saw something flash in Jack's eyes at the mention of the room that they brought him to day after day, and then he nodded.

"Alright, well, I'll talk to Duma about it. After I finish up here, I'll have one of the angels bring you some food. And you have to eat it. Okay?"

The boy nodded again, and Nathaniel breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

"I won't allow it," Duma said.

"But surely we have plenty of Grace from Jack!" Nathaniel argued, throwing his hands out. "Why do we have to keep torturing him?"

"Because it's routine," she shot back. "Routine is important, especially when dealing with a prisoner. His body and his Grace expect it, which makes it all the more easier for us. Time away from it, and he'll learn to hate it. He'll fight us, and we'll have to be even more forceful with him."

"We don't have to force him. If we just slowed down, and explained things, then maybe-"

"Then maybe he'd learn to resent us."

Silence, and then she went on, "I know what you did."

Nathaniel's cheeks colored, but he said, "He was upset. I have to keep him happy, even while we're still torturing him, so that's what I'm doing."

 _And he knows something's wrong._

Nathaniel kept that thought to himself, not wanting another drill to be put into Jack's head.

"Strictly speaking, it's not torture," Duma reasoned.

"How so?" Nathaniel asked. "Can't you see he's wasting away? We're killing him!"

"Nathaniel, you will take him to that room tomorrow and do your job or else I will find someone else to do it."

"Who? Cael? You know the maniac likes it."

Duma leaned against the couch that she now stood behind. The lights in the room dimmed.

"I sent Cael away. He'll be looking for Anael."

Nathaniel said nothing about that, though he knew Cael must be so happy to have been given that assignment. The creep seemed to have an odd fascination with her pregnancy. Though, it was difficult to not be fascinated with it. She was the first pregnant angel in… Nathaniel didn't know when. Nephilim had been born before, but always to human women. Never before had an angel given birth. She was something of a miracle at the moment, even if it was borne of sin.

All of this was drenched in sin, and Nathaniel had just about had enough of it. But he couldn't free the boy. If he tried to do so, he'd be punished, most likely made to lie with him - as if he wasn't already planning on doing that at some point, if only to keep him happy.

Maybe they'd find a worse punishment for him, throw him in a cell like Castiel.

Castiel, that was it!

Nathaniel knew what he had to do, but not wanting to seem in a hurry, still knowing what he came for, he said, "Duma, just _one day_."

"He's already had one day," she reasoned. "That was today. The room, tomorrow. It's your job."

Nathaniel didn't ask for her to assign it to someone else. Someone else could be more cruel. But now Nathaniel was convinced he couldn't follow through with it. He was going to try and free Jack. That boy had had enough suffering and Nathaniel was sick of being a bystander to it.

He nodded, knowing he wasn't going to win this argument, other plans already racing through his head, and then he left, hoping displeasure was written all over his face.

* * *

Castiel was in the cell for a few hours before anyone came to visit him. He was surprised anyone wanted to visit him at all. He was on his feet when he saw Nathaniel approaching.

"You," he growled out. "You took my son."

"Yes, I did," the other angel said, calmly crossing his arms.

Or maybe he wasn't so calm.

Castiel looked him over again. Something was off about him.

"Why are you here?" he asked him.

"We want your help with Jack," he told him.

"I already told Duma my answer was no. You'll never get me to harm that boy."

Then Nathaniel said something that surprised him: "Good, because I don't want to harm him any more than you do."

"What?"

"I want this to stop," Nathaniel said. "It has to stop."

"Then stop it!" Castiel reasoned.

Nathaniel shook his head sadly. "My rank isn't high enough. Tomorrow, I have to… No, it doesn't matter what I have to do. Tomorrow, I might have a chance. He'll be under my… care for a few hours."

"And what about me?" Castiel asked. "What can I do?"

"I'll come to you beforehand, unlock your cell. Indra has the keys. I'm sure I can get them from him without him noticing. You meet me at the gate."

"And how do I know you'll keep your word?"

"You don't."

That was the last thing Nathaniel said, and Castiel was left to think this over, all while missing his family so deeply that he fell to his knees. He held onto the bars, and leaned his head against them.

"Oh, Jack," he murmured, vision blurring. "Jack, please be okay."

* * *

Jack had eaten. The food was bland to him, and he hated it, but he thought about what Nathaniel had told him, thought about playtime.

He grew impatient as he waited for Nathaniel to come, and he started pacing. Eventually, he grew frustrated with his shirt, and he took it off before throwing it across the room. There, that was better. Less to get in the way when Nathaniel got here.

Eventually, the angel showed himself, and Jack rushed to him, cupping his face in his hands, bringing his lips to him.

Nathaniel gripped the back of his head, and pulled him off of him. Jack whined.

He wanted to play!

"Jack, things are going to be different tomorrow."

A shiver ran through him, which made Nathaniel run a finger over his cheekbone. The last time he'd told him things were going to be different he'd been taken to the Room. Was there something worse than that?

"It's okay," he soothed. "It's okay. But you're going to have to keep your strength up. Perhaps we shouldn't play."

Jack drew his lips together in a line, jaw clenching, staring insistently at Nathaniel. He had said he would play with him so he was going to play.

He put a hand to the back of the angel's neck, and made him lean down to him, their lips touching again. Nathaniel started pulling back, and Jack growled, his other hand going to his shirt. He was going to get his playtime.

Nathaniel gave in, was kissing back now, lips warm and soft. He took a step forward, and Jack got the idea, slowly backing over to the bed, hands undoing Nathaniel's clothes.

Their lips parted, and Nathaniel breathed, "We can take it easy, Jack. You have to be strong for tomorrow."

Was something bad going to happen tomorrow? No, he couldn't think of it. It was all too much.

Jack was going to be fine, especially if he got to play with Nathaniel more thoroughly than earlier.

"Are you happy, Jack?" Nathaniel asked when Jack pulled back to work on taking his clothes off. He looked up at him at that, mouth opening, but no words came out. Frustrated, but still wanting to answer him, he placed a kiss to his neck. Nathaniel drew closer to him at that, and whether it was intentional or not, Jack liked it.

The angel looked up now, and Jack couldn't see his eyes, and he wondered why he was doing so. Was Nathaniel sad? He smelled sad. Jack didn't want him to be sad.

To tell him it was okay, he fully bared his torso, and then he was running his hands along him. Yes, Nathaniel was different than his other playmates, more like him. He liked it, liked any of his playmates, really. Nathaniel's body was wonderfully toned, and he wondered why he hadn't wanted to play with him before. What had been stopping him? Whatever it was, Jack hoped he could kiss it away, make him realize that he was important to him. Even when he was confused, even while he kept chanting _Sam, Dean, Castiel,_ in his head, even when the angels seemed like they might be the bad guys, he still had Nathaniel. Nathaniel who fed him, who washed him, who had finally played with him.

Nathaniel.

Remembering how good it had felt with Nathaniel touching his nipples earlier, Jack got on the bed, and pulled Nathaniel in between his legs, before starting to lap curiously at one of his nipples. A deep sigh left him, hips arching forward, and now Jack had his hands on his pants, trying to undo them. Yes, he could feel something, that hardness he felt in between his legs when he was ready to play. He was making Nathaniel happy!

But then why did he still smell so sad? The scent was heavy, tinged with so many others that Jack could barely make sense of it. He was going to have to do better.

Nathaniel's hands caressed his head, the sides of his face, and then his neck. It felt so good, Jack moaned against him, slowly rubbing himself against his leg.

Then he was kissing his way over to Nathaniel's other nipple before sucking on it. Curious, he gripped it with his teeth, making Nathaniel wince, but he didn't push him away, so he kept at it.

Eventually, the angel took hold of him and pressed him down to the bed.

"Jack, I'm going to go easy on you," Nathaniel told him. "We don't have to play rough."

Jack nodded and then Nathaniel was kissing him, working a hand between his legs.

Then he was pulling his pants down, and his warm hands were on his bare thighs. Jack whimpered when he took him into his mouth.

No, this wasn't precisely the way he wanted to play. He wanted… Well, he wanted what he got from Laila, and Ariel, and Tamiel, and Anael. He wanted to be inside him.

But how?

His stomach clenched, some awful memory he couldn't understand giving him the answer.

Jack sat up, shoving Nathaniel off of him, and then he threw him to his knees. Nathaniel let out a startled cry, so Jack draped himself over him, kissing his cheek before having his mouth drag over the back of his neck, then down, in between his shoulder blades. His hands were on his hips, then he was figuring out how to undo his pants.

"Jack," Nathaniel breathed.

He groaned as he squeezed at him through his pants.

"Jack, just take it easy."

He kissed him again at that, hoping it could transform into a word, and that word was _play_.

Play, play, play. It was what he wanted.

He had Nathaniel's pants down, and yes, Nathaniel was the same as him in between his legs. Not soft, but hard, and hot, and he was intrigued by it.

"Jack, just give me a minute. We can play in a bit."

He listened to him, not wanting his playmate to feel overwhelmed, and he went to lie down on the bed. When he lifted up his head he could see Nathaniel on the end of the bed, head bowed, taking in heaving breaths.

Then he was getting to his feet, and he gave Jack a smile.

"I'm alright."

Jack raised his eyebrows at him, widening his eyes, hoping it asked the question he wanted: _Play?_

Then he was getting on the bed with Jack, crawling over to him as he said, "You were a good boy, so we're going to play. But we don't have to play like you're used to. We can just do what we did earlier."

Jack decided to give it a try, to see if he would be alright with just that, so he spread his legs, and let Nathaniel settle in between them.

Yes, he took him into his mouth just right, tongue swirling around him. He crooned into the air, and Nathaniel's hands ran over his body, playing. Jack twisted his fingers in his short hair, hips arching up towards him.

Yes, yes, this was the way to play. Yes!

But he wanted to bounce on the bed with Nathaniel. He couldn't do that like this.

He started thrusting his hips, hoping to feel some of the give of the mattress that way, and Nathaniel's grip on him tightened, nails biting at sensitive skin.

No, this wasn't right. Wasn't all that he wanted. Jack lifted his hips one more time, voice leaving his throat, and then he let Nathaniel continue with what he was doing. He twitched in between his legs, feeling so full and heavy, and oh, how he just wanted to bounce and roll around.

There was a way to do it. He knew there was a way to do it. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew. That information came with darkness, something heavy over his heart, but maybe he could do something good with that darkness. He could show Nathaniel how fun it was to play.

Jack wrenched him off of him, and then was pulling Nathaniel up. Nathaniel's hands were over his now, and they were kissing. Jack got his legs under the angel and then shoved him backwards, making sure he went with him. He giggled at the motion, and then resumed kissing him. He brought his hand in between Nathaniel's legs, feeling, feeling… Yes, right there. Right there.

Jack was confused that he wasn't wet like his other playmates were, so he supposed he was going to have to do something about it.

He lowered himself down Nathaniel's body, as the angel insisted, "Jack, you don't have to. It's fine. Really, it's fine."

He smiled up at him, letting him know it was alright, and then he was licking him. When he deemed he was wet enough, he settled more firmly against Nathaniel, and then he was pushing into him. The angel groaned, a shudder running through his body, and then he was holding onto the sheets, knuckles turning white.

There was lots of bouncing and rolling around after that, and Jack found himself laughing and smiling, enjoying all of it. His own part of playtime ended when Nathaniel was on him, hand on his chest, bouncing on him. Jack cried out, and then Nathaniel was off of him.

He found himself staring in between Nathaniel's legs, confused.

Jack was done with playtime. Why wasn't Nathaniel? It hardly seemed fair that he had finished while the angel hadn't, so he brought his mouth to him to suck as his other playmates had so often done.

It was odd having such fullness in his throat, but he found he could take him in all the way without any problems. With some difficulty, he copied what the angels did to him, and Nathaniel's hands were in his hair, and then his hips were arching up and up, and then there was something hot and sticky in Jack's throat. He wasn't sure he liked it.

Wondering what was happening, Jack pulled his mouth off of him, and watched.

In a few seconds, Nathaniel was softening in between his legs, and Jack wiped up some of what had come out of him before putting it in his mouth.

It tasted…

It was a taste he couldn't describe, but it was clearly Nathaniel. Then he wiped up some more, before holding it up to Nathaniel's face in lieu of a question.

Nathaniel interrupted his harsh breaths to laugh, and pushed his hand away. "No, Jack, that's not for me."

He held it up to him again, asking.

"You're wondering what that is, aren't you?"

He nodded.

There was guilt coming off of Nathaniel in heavy waves, confusing Jack, but he answered, "Well, it's what your body makes. It's… It's a sign that playtime was good."

That seemed sufficient to Jack, so he sucked his finger into his mouth.

Then he curled up with Nathaniel, and he was tired enough to get some sleep. Hopefully none of his nightmares about the Room would plague him.

* * *

Nathaniel watched the boy as he slept, so full of regret that he wished to leave at that moment. He didn't deserve to be in the presence of a child whose innocence he had ruined, a child who still acted like a child in some ways, who seemed young and old all at once. At least this would teach Jack to eat, would teach him to take care of himself. And it clearly tired him out enough to sleep.

Nathaniel used his Grace to clean himself up, untangled himself from the boy, and dressed.

Tomorrow. Things would be better tomorrow.

But there was no taking back what he'd done, what he'd let Jack do. Even now he wished to banish those memories from his mind, the memories of Jack holding him as he thrusted into him, the memories of his body against his. He supposed it had only been a matter of time before something like this had happened, but he had expected to be in a different vessel for it. What had just come to pass didn't further the cause of his brethren. It had only been for Jack. To make him happy.

If only the boy knew happiness didn't come from violation.

He stirred in his sleep, and then, Nathaniel heard him speak for the first time in three weeks, and what he said, he would keep to himself to spare him the drill:

"Castiel."

Hoping he would remain quiet, Nathaniel leaned over him and kissed him on the forehead.

"Shh," he murmured. "You'll be with him soon enough. Sweet dreams, Jack."


	14. First Words

The wind bit through Dean's clothes and he shivered before taking another sip of his beer. He was out back behind the bar, wanted some privacy. He'd walked there, had left the car in case Sam and Anael needed a quick getaway for whatever reason. And now he regretted it, figured he was too drunk to even find his way down the street. He leaned against the wall, looking up, and raised his drink to the sky.

"Cas, you son of a bitch," he prayed, making sure he put intent behind his words, thought solely of the angel who tugged at his heart, "you better have a plan, or else… Or else..." He shook his head, taking another sip, feeling the wonderful, comforting burn in his throat. "You know what? It wasn't supposed to be like this. We were all supposed to be together, so whatever you're doing, I hope it works. You get the kid back. You get him back, you hear? And save yourself while you're at it. I'm not…"

Dean couldn't go on, emotion thickening his throat. Fuck, he felt like he was going to start crying; the corners of his eyes were stinging. He turned and ended up slamming his fist into the wall, crying out, but not from the pain, or the blood that now flowed out over his knuckles.

"I just got you back, Cas," he told him. "I just got you back. I'm not… I'm not gonna lose you again. Do _not_ get yourself killed, you hear? I won't allow it. You get killed, then… then I'm just gonna have to get killed too. Might as well make it a family trip. Strap Sam and Jack in the backseat of the Impala, and we'll go off a cliff, how does that sound?"

No, that didn't actually sound very good, Dean realized. But the thought of going on without Castiel _again_ was too much. And now he didn't even have Jack, the poor kid that was getting violated over, and over…

Dean sucked in a shaky breath, a tear trailing down his cheek, and he downed his bottle before throwing it against the wall with a scream. The shattering glass was pleasing to his ears.

"Fuck!" he cried out. "Just come back! Please!"

He beat his fists against the wall, blood flowing, pain barely reaching him through the haze of red, through the despair that he was drowning in. Then he leaned his head against the wall, a sob shaking his shoulders.

"Cas, I need you," he got out. "God, I need you so much. Just get the kid, and come back. Come back to us."

Dean fell to his knees in the gravel, and continued to cry.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sam was also struggling with his emotions. He'd already stopped himself from throwing the remote at the TV, and he was in the passenger seat in the Impala, blasting some of Dean's music. He didn't care that it was getting late and that other people in the motel probably heard him. This was the only way he knew how to feel at home.

But it was lonely.

No Dean, No Castiel.

No Jack.

Just him, alone in the vehicle that had been his safe haven for years, his escape.

Except now there was no way to escape. He wanted to drive, wanted to keep going until he got to Jack.

But there wasn't a road that led to his son.

The music didn't drown out the words in his head, all that Anael had said about Jack, what Castiel had said. Oh god, what was happening to him. Sam saw him screaming in his head, saw him crying, though he knew it wasn't like that.

God, Jack was probably laughing and smiling.

But what they were doing now…

He wished he knew, had the morbid curiosity to, but he also wasn't sure his heart could handle it. Or his stomach.

Sam wanted to cry about all this, but he didn't know how to. It was like it was all stuck inside of him, like some giant chest that kept getting fuller and fuller and soon it was going to overflow. Sam wanted to open the lid on it before it burst but it was like he couldn't reach the handle to do so, could barely grasp it. His pain was deep and intangible and it left him feeling lost and nauseous, in a sea of emotions that might suddenly decide to kill him.

The shades on the window to the motel room were drawn, and Anael's shadow was moving across them. She'd changed; her clothes flowed differently. What could she possibly be wearing? No, it didn't matter.

But god, he could see, even through the window, that she was pregnant. He'd been meaning to ask her how her pregnancy had progressed so quickly, but Jack had aged rather rapidly gestationally, so he supposed any child of his would have an even shorter period inside their mother.

God, his kid was going to have a kid. It was so messed up that he just wanted to drive off, forget his whole life, and pretend none of it existed.

"Jack, hang in there," Sam murmured, hoping he could hear him.

* * *

 _Jack, hang in there._

The words reached him through his dream, through the noise of the painful whirring thing that was trying to get into his head.

Sam?

He knew it was Sam. It had to be Sam.

Jack was sitting up, and he was frantically grabbing his sheets, feeling around, trying to find the human he'd heard.

"Sam!" he cried into the dark of his room.

At least the angels were kind enough to keep the lights off when he was sleeping, to give him some semblance of a schedule.

Well, he knew his schedule now.

Sleep, food, the Room, bath, food, sleep, food, the Room…

"Sam!"

There was a voice in his head, and it hurt. Oh, it hurt! He covered his ears, trying to block it out, falling forward, screaming.

 _Get out of my head!_

"Sam…"

Then Jack realized, his mouth was moving, and a word was coming out of it. He was speaking! And now it was like he couldn't stop speaking, but just that one word, just that one name.

"Sam! Sam! Sam!"

He was crying out for him. He needed him, he needed him! Where was he? He wasn't there.

" _Sam!_ "

The screeching in his head grew, till suddenly his door was bursting open, and Jack started from it, but couldn't lift his head up.

"Sa-am!" he sobbed into the darkness.

There were arms around him, Nathaniel's arms.

"Sh… Sh… It's okay, Jack. It's okay. Sh… You have to be quiet. It's very important that you be quiet."

The agony in his head subsided, and he buried his face against Nathaniel's chest, inhaling his scent. He wasn't Sam, but he would have to do.

 _Sam. Dean. Castiel._

 _Sam. Dean. Castiel._

 _Sam. Dean. Castiel._

Jack ended up rocking back and forth, murmuring their names.

"Sh… Jack, hush."

The lights in the room turned on, and he heard Duma's voice:

"What is this?"

"Nothing," Nathaniel answered immediately.

Jack couldn't draw himself out of it.

"Sam. Dean. Castiel. Sam. Dean. Castiel." Murmuring it over and over again. His family. They were his family, right? They were going to save him. Save him from the bad guys. But the angels had told him they were the bad guys. "Sam. Dean. Castiel."

Nothing from Duma or Nathaniel, and then Duma said, "I'll get Naomi."

Naomi and her whirring thing. Her drill.

"Sam. Dean. Castiel."

"No!" Nathaniel argued as Jack continued to rock back and forth, trying to soothe himself. "No, that's not necessary."

"Sam. Dean. Castiel."

"Clearly, he remembers them. We can't have that."

Then there was a hand reaching out to Jack, a hand he didn't want touching him, and he lifted his head up and screamed, throwing his arms out.

Power radiated from him, took over his entire being, spreading out in golden waves of pure energy. Duma and Nathaniel were sent hurtling across the room, bodies slamming into the wall, bones cracking, and still Jack didn't stop screaming.

 _Sam. Dean. Castiel._

He could feel something, felt _alive_ , another part of him opening up and spreading out, taking up the room. Yes, it felt so… so _free_!

Jack was in his room, listening to his voice leaving him, sounding panicked, like a trapped animal, hearing Duma and Nathaniel crying out, seeing their broken bodies.

And then he was in the Garden.

Jack curled in on himself now, tears streaking his face, and he was shaking.

"S-S-Sam. D-Dean. Castiel. Sam. Dean. Castiel. Sam Dean Castiel. Sam Dean Castiel."

And that's how he stayed. He hoped he'd stay like that for as long as possible.

But he was very, very alone.

* * *

It took quite a few minutes for Nathaniel to heal his shattered spine, and the pain was insanity-inducing, mind-numbing, something unreal. Anger followed, but not at Jack. At Duma. Jack would have been fine if she hadn't tried to touch him.

"Now we have to fix this!" he shouted at her.

"Fix _what_?" she asked, getting to her feet, brushing her hair out of her face. "What is _this_ exactly?"

"Nothing," Nathaniel said, trying to walk out the door. He had to find Jack. He could sense him in the Garden.

Duma grabbed his arm, making him face her.

"What do you know?" she told him. She searched his face, and then something dawned on her. "Did you tell him about his family?"

"No, of course not."

Nathaniel hadn't, and he wondered who had. Perhaps it'd been Anael. She shouldn't have. Now Jack was going to suffer more because of it.

"Now, come on," he told her.

"Excuse me, but who's in charge here?"

Nathaniel stopped dead, realized he'd been speaking much too freely in her presence. He lowered his head in a sign of subservience.

"You've forgotten your place," she told him. "The Nephilim may hold you in higher regard but it doesn't mean anything. You're still that lowly angel who hid away during all the civil wars."

"Yes, but I captured him," Nathaniel argued.

Duma then did something that was very unlike her, and she slapped him, leaving his cheek stinging. It was the shame that hurt more.

"Go get the chains," she ordered. "You will chain him up, and then you will escort him to Naomi."

"Yes, Duma."

"Do I need to assign someone else to him tomorrow?"

"No, Duma."

"Good, now go."

Nathaniel looked up, met her gaze, saw fear there, uncertainty. She had no idea what she was doing, and it did nothing to instill Nathaniel with confidence.

He went and grabbed the chains that had been made specifically for Jack, and then he went to the Garden.

* * *

Jack could hear something. Metal on metal. Yes. That's what it was. Metal on metal.

"Sam Dean Castiel. Sam Dean Castiel."

Through his tears he saw feet pressing down against the too green grass in front of him, and he would've shifted back, but he recognized those shoes, recognized that step. It was Nathaniel.

He settled down beside him, and set something on the grass next to them. Nathaniel slowly and gently took one of his wrists.

"S-Sam, Dean, Castiel," he murmured.

"Sh… Sh… It's okay, Jack. Everything is going to be fine. You're alright."

"Sam. Dean. Castiel."

He moaned and slowed his rocking when he felt Nathaniel's fingers brush against his pulse point, grazing over his skin, nearly tickling him. So nice. It felt so nice. Maybe he wanted to play.

More of that gentle caress, and Jack gave him his arm.

"There we go, Jack," he soothed. "There we go. Sh…"

"Sam. Dean. Castiel."

"Yes, it's alright."

He whimpered as he leaned into him more, feeling his fingers trail up his arm, and Nathaniel pressed a kiss to his head.

Then a heavy metal cuff was being secured around his wrist. Jack screamed, searching for his Grace, his powers, falling backwards, pulling, kicking.

No, no, no!

"Sam!" he cried.

Another cuff, this time on his other wrist.

"Dean!"

And now Nathaniel was grabbing his ankles, and Jack was squirming, trying to get out of his grip. His powers weren't working, were hurting him, so he let them be. He kicked, and he kicked, but the angel got ahold of him. Tears made him blurry in his vision, and he didn't see his face as he now secured a cuff around his ankle.

"Castiel!"

The other ankle soon followed, and Jack lay on the ground, defeated, sobbing, sobbing so much he felt like part of his body wanted to empty itself, like his insides were being ripped up.

He grew dizzy, body making too much saliva, and he found that he was having a hard time breathing - in and out, faster than he could comprehend - and his stomach hurt immensely before he felt something work its way through him and come out of his mouth with a terrible retching noise. Jack coughed, drawing away from whatever it was that had come out of him. He pulled at the grass with his fingers, tugging, tearing it, wishing for something to hold onto, to save him, but there was nothing.

He wanted his family back.

He remembered now. He remembered all of it.

He'd run away. The angels had captured him.

The angels. Oh, the angels.

How could Nathaniel do this to him?

Sobs racked his body as Nathaniel knelt by him, rubbing his back. Jack didn't have it in him to move away, because his touch was so, so nice, and it was Nathaniel. Nathaniel wouldn't hurt him.

He was the good guy. He was his family.

But Sam, and Dean, and Castiel…

Nathaniel brushed his hair off of his sweaty forehead.

"It's okay. Things will be better soon."

How could he say that?

Jack wanted to scream at him, but he couldn't breathe out for a long enough period of time for that. No, all his abused and worn body wanted to do was cry.

Eventually Jack cried himself into exhaustion, his lips chapped, mouth dry, an ache in his forehead, eyes red and swollen. Nathaniel helped him to his feet, and though he tried to help Jack walk, it was more like he was dragging him. Jack didn't have the strength to take another step. He refused to, especially if it was somewhere Nathaniel was taking him. And oh, the awful weight of the chains. They rattled with each movement, an oppressive _clink_ , _clink_ , _clink_ , like locks on a cage.

Jack wasn't home, and Jack wasn't free, and Nathaniel wasn't his family.

Even as he felt that another part of him raged against it. Nathaniel was his family. He was, he was, he was!

He sniffled, and Nathaniel continued to drag him along, out of the Garden of Eden that he'd desecrated with his humanity, through the halls of Heaven and to Naomi's room with the chair, and the whirring thing.

"Sam. Dean. Castiel," Jack found himself saying again, as he was put in the chair, and secured to it.

No blindfold was needed this time.

Jack could see his enemies, and knew clearly who they were.

Naomi.

Duma.

Nathaniel.

"Sam. Dean. Castiel."

Nathaniel held his head back, a tear dripping off of his chin and onto Jack's head. Naomi got the drill.

"Sam. Dean. Castiel."

In a mess of blood, and cracked bone, and ear-shattering screams, Jack's memories were taken from him once more.

Now he lay there, limp, eyes glazed over, seeing but not caring, and there were no names for him to recite in his head, no hope.

Hope wasn't needed.

He was okay. He was home.

* * *

Water was important for Jack. Nathaniel knew that, and after the boy had cried and vomited and bled, he would need it. He'd managed to get him to drink at least one bottle, which they'd taken from their supply of human necessities (they'd been stocked up on various things since Jack had arrived), and now he'd gotten him back into bed. He'd had to take the chains off his ankles to get his pants back on him, and Jack had dutifully held out his legs for him once he'd had to put them back on. Nathaniel couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't see the boy in there that he'd hurt.

Physically, he was mostly alright now. Duma had healed his head, and he'd gotten some water.

But the angels, with all their powers, couldn't heal a broken heart, a broken soul. He tucked Jack in, hoping he'd manage to get some rest, find some peace away from all of this, and then he left, going to find Indra.

Tomorrow had to work. It just had to.

* * *

Castiel had cried while listening to Dean's prayers, and he wished that he could answer them, wished that he could rescue Jack right at that moment and go home to his family. But he couldn't.

It was a long night, filled with waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Castiel had seen empires rise and fall, but nothing was as painstakingly slow and tedious as that night.

Finally, Nathaniel came to him, unlocked the cell door, but left it closed. No one had come to check on Castiel, especially since they were short of angels, but it was a precaution: just in case.

"The boy's not doing well," Nathaniel admitted to him after he unlocked the door. "He had a rough night. When… When you see him I need you to be gentle with him, to go slowly. He… He won't know you. He's been through a lot."

"I wonder who's fault that is," Castiel growled.

Nathaniel ducked his head, but Castiel still managed to see the guilt in his eyes. "Yes, well… I'm trying to fix it now. I'm sorry."

"Tell him that."

"As far as he's concerned, I have nothing to apologize for."

Nathaniel's bottom lip trembled, and he bit it, a sure sign that he was experiencing intense emotion, and then he turned away, saying, "Give me five minutes, and then meet me at the gate as soon as you can."

Nathaniel started to leave, and something occurred to Castiel. The cell door creaked as he swung it open, and he grabbed Nathaniel's arm. The other angel was facing him instantly, ready to tear him off of him.

"I need a weapon," Castiel explained.

"I couldn't get your blade back from Duma."

"Give me yours."

When it seemed like Nathaniel wasn't going to do as he asked, Castiel tightened his grip on his wrist and pulled him closer.

"You kidnapped my son. Now, I have no reason to believe you're actually helping me, but it seems as though you are, so I expect to not be left defenseless. If you don't give me your blade, I will find a way to get one, and I _will_ drive it through your skull over and _over_ again until not even our father could recognize you. Do I make myself clear?"

Nathaniel stared deep into his eyes, and must've seen only truth there, because he handed over his weapon.

Castiel put it in his coat and then there was more waiting. Waiting for Nathaniel to leave and then giving him exactly five minutes. With a push, the cell door swung on its hinges, and then he stepped out.

Time to go get Jack.

Castiel could feel his son, and with each step he was getting closer. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he could barely breathe. Jack. He was so close to Jack.

Though he could sense if someone was getting near, Castiel constantly felt like he was being watched, and he kept looking over his shoulder, walking quickly, but also taking it carefully.

After seconds that seemed to last forever, he made it to the gate, saw the silvery entrance, and Jack wasn't there. Castiel frantically looked around, waiting for him, angel blade drawn and twirling in his grip.

He paced, all his senses alert, Close. He was close now. But Castiel almost left to go searching for him. Just take a right, a left, head all the way down the hall…

No, he had to wait.

A minute passed, and then finally, _finally_ he heard footsteps. Nathaniel was coming down the hall first, someone walking behind him. Castiel peered around Nathaniel, and his heart plummeted, everything in him breaking and sinking to fall into ruined depths when he saw the state of his boy. Jack's eyes were sunken, cheekbones in sharp clarity against the rest of his face, and without his shirt on he could see the bony protrusions of his ribs. He walked slowly, holding onto Nathaniel's sleeve, chains clanking with each movement. Each step was ponderous, like it was a struggle, and judging by the dark circles under his weighted eyes, his lank, limp hair, and pale, sallow skin, it really was. Tears pricked at the corners of Castiel's eyes immediately, and he blinked, letting one roll free down his cheek.

Oh _god_.

"Jack."

Jack glanced up curiously, avoided his gaze, and then looked questioningly at Nathaniel.

Castiel wanted to run to him, take him into his arms, hold him and never let go. He never wanted to lose him again, and he wanted to place his hand on his forehead, cleanse him of his suffering, wash him free of all that he'd been through. But he found that he couldn't move, only gripped his angel blade tighter.

"It's okay," the other angel coaxed. "He's a friend."

Jack said nothing, though it looked like a million words were flying through his head, and he seemed to settle on one. He tugged insistently at Nathaniel's sleeve, and looked at him with big eyes. Nathaniel shook his head. "No, he's not for that." More silence from Jack, and Nathaniel had to put a hand on his back to get him to keep moving. "Come on, it's okay. I'm not taking you to that room."

Castiel frowned. What was Nathaniel talking about? Well, he supposed there was much he'd missed out on. He wanted to know all he could about Jack's captivity, but it made knots twist so painfully in his stomach that he almost fell to his knees.

Castiel tried reaching out to take Jack from Nathaniel, and his son tentatively held out his shaking hand to him.

They couldn't linger, Castiel could feel angels converging on their spot, as if they knew. Nathaniel met his eyes, and Castiel saw panic there. The other angels did know. They were coming.

He grabbed Jack's arm, saying, "Come on, we have to go."

For some reason Jack flinched, and Nathaniel started rubbing his shoulders, trying to calm him down. Jack was pulling away from them, retreating down the hall. Nathaniel had to snag the chain, and now his boy had fallen onto the floor, and he was curled up on his side, and crying. Castiel rushed over to kneel by him, hands hovering over him, helpless, unsure of what to do.

"What's happening?" he asked Nathaniel.

"I don't know. His mind's in a very delicate place right now."

Footsteps. Castiel could hear footsteps.

No, no, this wasn't good. They had to go. They had to leave. Now!

He lifted up Jack, but then his son started screaming, and Castiel could feel him using his powers, only for them to reflect back and hurt himself. Jack was writhing in his arms, clawing at him, and Castiel only tightened his grip.

"Castiel, give us the boy!"

The voice came from down the hall. It was Laila. Tamiel, and Indra were with her, and Castiel took Jack and ran, nearly making it to the gate…

The gate shut, and he was left standing in front of a doorway to nowhere. Jack ended up whacking him in the face, and Castiel lost his grip. He tumbled to the floor, powers still trying to leave him, eyes glowing. Burning. His wrists and ankles were burning.

Not sure of what to do, he took a stance in front of Jack, angel blade held at the ready.

"You're going to have to take him from me!" he yelled.

Tamiel nodded, and Laila and Indra charged at them.

Footsteps were coming from behind, and Castiel turned, taking in who else was there. Duma.

They converged on him, and Castiel ducked his head, angel blade raised, ready to defend Jack to the death. Nathaniel met Duma, using his Grace in a way that should've sent her down the hall, but she counteracted it, not moving back, and then pushing forward.

A blade buried itself into Castiel's shoulder, tearing a cry from his throat, but not before he got in a thrust, stabbing Laila straight through the stomach. Blood flew, and he fell back, nearly on Jack, who was still on the floor, sobbing now, holding his head as if he was trying to protect himself.

Castiel tore his blade from Laila, even tore out the one in his shoulder, and rose to his feet, twirling to meet Indra who was coming up on his right side. Sparks flew as metal struck against metal, and Castiel shoved him back before closing in, trying for another underhand thrust. Laila, who was on the floor beside him grabbed his foot, and he pulled, kicking her in the face.

That was distraction enough for Indra to slice into his left wrist, just missing the artery, making Castiel drop one of his blades. He faltered back.

Nathaniel and Duma were still battling with their Grace, power thrumming around them, but Duma was stronger, was getting closer to Jack.

Castiel parried one of Indra's strokes, threw his hand out, Grace flaring through him and sent Duma tumbling down the hallway. She got to her feet, and ran at them now, two angel blades out, one of them Castiel's. Nathaniel dodged out of the way, banging into Indra and Duma ran straight into Castiel, both blades held at his throat.

"We need him," Duma snarled.

The lights dimmed, and Nathaniel must've retrieved his blade from the floor because sparks flashed, orange and blue in the darkness of Heaven.

"He's _my_ son!"

Not caring very much for the blades at his throat, Castiel grabbed hold of her wrists, forcing her arms back. She grunted as she struggled with him, and he got his knee up, managed to ram it into her stomach. She fell off of him, and Castiel rolled, snapping her little finger in one clean movement before prying his blade free from her now-weakened grip.

Nathaniel cried out, and Castiel took in his situation. Indra has slashed his face, blood dripping heavily from it now, was visible even in the deep shadows. The lights brightened, showing Castiel that Indra had nearly taken his eye and the blade had swiped up over his eyebrow, cutting into his hairline.

But Nathaniel was still fighting though he'd fallen to one knee, blade held up against Indra's.

Castiel was about to ram his blade through Duma's thigh, severely wounding her, when he saw Indra kick Nathaniel in the chin. The other angel went toppling backwards, and he was grabbed, arm around his neck, scarlet-tipped blade held at his throat.

"Stop this!"

Castiel paused, which was enough for Duma to grab his face and rake her nails over his cheeks, making him cry out. His bottom lip was cut as well, blood getting into his mouth.

He took stock of his situation. Indra was threatening Nathaniel, but why did he care? Nathaniel had hurt his son.

Jack came out of his fit to stare at them wild-eyed.

"Jack, just stay there," Castiel ordered, hand out.

His son started crawling over to Nathaniel.

"Jack, stay put!"

"If Castiel moves," Duma commanded, "kill Nathaniel."

"B-but we need each other!" Nathaniel cried, making Indra press the blade harder against his throat till he drew blood, drawing back on his head. Nathaniel gripped at his arm now, trying to wrest himself from his grip.

Duma stepped over to him, their heaving breaths loud in the silence that surrounded them.

"I need angels who are loyal to Heaven," she told him. "Not you."

Jack was whimpering, reaching out, and Duma side-stepped to avoid his grip. Castiel did something he had hoped he wouldn't have to do while she was distracted - he threw his blade, and it struck home in Indra's chest. He didn't have time to scream, simply died in a burst of light. Nathaniel started falling to the floor and scrambled away from his body.

Duma turned to him with an anguished shout, tears in her eyes, and he was forced to the floor with her Grace, the marble cracking beneath him. Castiel felt as if he was getting crushed.

And in that moment, when Castiel just wanted to hold his boy, wanted to somehow take him and flee, Jack made his way into Nathaniel's arms.

Castiel closed his eyes, openly crying.

They'd failed.


	15. Severance

No Jack, and now no Castiel. Sam could barely stand it. He was glad he still had Dean, but he didn't like that the both of them were stuck with Anael. Though it was risky for Anael, they decided to stay in the state, just in case Castiel was able to get their son out. When they weren't hopping from motel to motel, they'd stay in the car. A week had passed, and Sam and Dean had stopped hunting. They were now just guard dogs for a pregnant angel that neither of them liked.

So far they hadn't had a run in with any of the other angels, but Sam knew it wouldn't be long before they did.

To switch things up a bit, they'd stayed in the woods the night before. Sam was grateful that Anael was an angel, otherwise there would be a lot of other things they'd surely have to worry about: making sure she got enough food, water, vitamins, that there was always a bathroom around so she could pee. But she didn't require any of that. Really, the most they did was make sure she didn't run away. Every once in awhile they'd lift up her shirt to look at her ribs to see if the tattoo hiding her from the other angels was still there. It was.

Sam was the first one awake, and he groaned, achy from sleeping on the ground, though he'd had a sleeping bag. He and Dean tended to take turns watching Anael throughout the night, but neither of them had been able to stay up the night before.

Sam got up and walked the few feet to where the Impala was parked, off the road, and out of sight. Peering through the windows into the backseat he saw that Anael wasn't there. Dean was curled up in the front seat, so she couldn't be there.

 _Shit._

It was still dark, the morning gray and cold, and Sam really wished for a hot shower right about now, and a hot breakfast to go along with it. But that didn't matter; he had to find Anael.

Carefully, Sam searched the ground around the Impala, looking for any footprints in the soft dirt and crushed leaves that weren't his own. Anael had been wearing their clothes for a few days, making them both uncomfortable by forgoing pants, though their shirts were large enough on her to count as dresses. They'd stopped to get her her own clothes, and now she was wearing, size seven sneakers, sweatpants and a soft cotton t-shirt that ironically said " _MOTHER to an ANGEL_ " on it - the shirt had been Dean's idea, a way to let out some of his anger. Anael hated the clothes, but had taken to wearing them anyway.

Sam knew what indents to look for in the dirt, and he thankfully found them, though in his carelessness had trampled them a bit. It took ten minutes of carefully circling the vehicle, studying the ground before each step, to find which direction she'd gone in. She was heading west.

Sam took off after her.

It was slow-going, making sure she didn't stray from her original path, trying to follow the telltale signs of someone else's presence.

An hour later, his stomach growling, mouth dry, he found her. She'd gone downhill, and had found herself a boulder to sit on at the edge of the treeline where she had an overview of a valley, a stream twisting its way through it.

"You shouldn't wander off," Sam told her.

She didn't jump at his approach, had probably heard him coming.

They'd taken the handcuffs off her the day before, had started trusting her more, but Sam thought maybe they'd have to put them back on and chain her up in the car. Despite what she'd done to Jack, he didn't like the idea. Not all of this was her fault.

She shrugged, and he sat down beside her.

"I get bored when you two idiots are sleeping."

"Wow, idiots, huh?"

Another shrug. "So, ready to drag me back to Dean? Tell him I ran off like a bad girl?"

"Dean was sleeping when I got up. Maybe he still is. He doesn't have to know about this."

"He liked me, you know," Anael said. "Before all this."

"Yeah, I know."

"What about you?" she asked, turning to look at him.

"What about me?"

"Do you like me?"

"Don't get me wrong, you're pretty," Sam told her, "but no." He shook his head.

"Why not?"

Sam swallowed roughly, remembering his conversation with Castiel. There was a reason he hadn't been with anyone in awhile. Intimately knowing Jack's pain was the reason for it, but there was no way he was going to tell her that.

Not wanting to discuss this, Sam pointedly eyed her stomach, and she turned her head away.

"Right."

"Have you ever…" he began, hoping she knew what he was referring to.

"No. He um… He was my first."

Sam nodded, even though he now really regretted even opening his mouth. At least they were having this conversation when he didn't have any food in his stomach.

"Sam, I'm sorry," she eventually said. There was a long pause before she went on, "I didn't expect myself to like Jack, but I do. It's kinda hard not to, you know? Despite who his father is, he's a good kid."

"Yeah. Yeah, he is."

Unbidden, a tear slid down his cheek. Despite being in someone else's presence, he didn't bother to wipe it away.

"What if we let them find me?" Anael asked.

"What?"

"The angels - say they find me. I can go back to Heaven, I can try something from there. Down here, I can't do anything."

Having had enough of sitting still, especially since this conversation was making him antsy, Sam got up, he found a rock, a good-sized one that fit in the palm of his hand, and he threw it, aiming for the stream. It made a satisfying splash, and then he found another rock.

Anael just sighed and shook her head at his very human actions.

"They'll just throw you in a cell," Sam reasoned.

"Maybe, but they need me. We could work with that. If we threaten the baby, perhaps-"

"No," Sam said immediately.

He didn't look at Anael's belly and see a baby. He looked at her and he saw her harboring a thing, an _it_. It was the evidence of Jack's suffering, nothing more. Not a child. It couldn't be a child.

But it was. They were. And Sam wouldn't want anyone to be harmed for their cause. He wanted Jack back, but threatening an unborn child wasn't the way to do it. Heaven had fallen to such low points, but the only thing that would make him be able to stand himself at the end of the day would be if he didn't stoop to their level, if he didn't commit wrongs that couldn't be made right.

"We don't actually have to hurt the child," she reasoned.

"No."

"Sam!"

"What?

"If it gets him back…"

"Anael, that's… that's _his_ kid."

Sam half-heartedly threw the rock, and sunk to the ground. He ran a hand through his hair and scratched at his head, before starting to tug at the grass. Really, he wanted to start biting his fingernails, but he'd been trying to break that habit. Just last week he'd gotten down to the nub on his thumb and had drawn blood.

"I don't want it. But, Sam, you have to realize, we're not completely helpless here."

"So, what? We take you in front of the gates of Heaven and hold a blade to your stomach? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"Yes."

"Look, we'll think about it."

"Sam, every _day_ that he's not with you, he's… he's…"

Sam was on his feet now. "What? What's happening to him?"

She bit her bottom lip, chestnut hair swishing over her shoulder as she turned away. "No, I shouldn't have said anything."

"Anael, tell me what they're doing to him."

"You don't want to know."

"Anael, I'm telling you, _I want to know_."

"No, you _don't_. Trust me, you do not want to go down that path."

"He's… He's my kid!"

She met his gaze now, eyes saddened but fierce. "And that's why I'm not telling you. No parent should have to know their child is going through something so awful."

Realizing he couldn't win this argument for now, though curiosity welled in him till it made him sick, he held out his hand to help her off the boulder. She nudged him aside and got off on her own.

"We should get back."

"Why were you out here?" Sam asked her.

"Like I said, you two idiots are boring."

She started walking, and Sam stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, turning her to him. Carefully and slowly so as to not startle her, he lifted up her shirt.

The black designs of the tattoo met him.

"You know, making sure that doesn't heal isn't easy," she told him. "I could let it fade, let whoever's after me find me."

Sam lowered her shirt down again, grimacing when his hand brushed against her swollen abdomen, nausea twisting his gut.

"I'll talk to Dean."

Anael pulled away from him, not looking convinced, and Sam grabbed her, pushing her ahead of him. Sure, he could stand talking to her without beating her senseless, and he did pity her, but there was still too much pain when he looked at her, so being gentle all the time was just too hard.

She glared at him, but said nothing.

"Dean, who's just going to handcuff me again."

"Probably should," Sam reasoned.

"Great, I go from being their prisoner to your prisoner. Maybe you're no better than them."

"You know that's not true."

"Fine, but we're getting nowhere with all this running around. Just face it, something's going to have to happen sooner or later."

Sooner or later. She was right, and Sam preferred sooner.

Soon.

They had to get Jack back soon, or else…

With each second his son got worse.

Anael was right. They did have to do something, and maybe it didn't matter who Sam was at the end of the day. What mattered was that Jack was okay again.

* * *

"Jack, it's time," Duma told him.

He sat on his bed, staring down at his hands. And then he shook his head.

She was trying to take him back to the Room. He wouldn't allow it, especially not after being so lonely this past week.

No Nathaniel.

What had happened to Nathaniel?

He wanted to ask, but didn't know how.

They'd taken him to the Room a few of the days, but now Jack was putting his foot down. No more.

No more unless he got Nathaniel.

"Come on. It'll be alright."

Another shake of his head.

Duma reached for his chains, and he pulled back with a whimper, the noise of the metal grating together loud.

Dimming lights, darkness, then light again.

" _Jack_."

He shakily pushed himself back till he was sitting by his pillows, knees drawn up, holding onto his chains to keep them away from Duma.

Jack didn't like the chains, and looking at them hurt, not physically, but it still hurt… somewhere. With them he was no longer healing from the Room, and his experiences there were getting worse. The memories of his time there still wouldn't come to him, but there was no ignoring the physical aches and pains in his body, the feeling as if he was getting beaten into nothingness.

"Jack, it's what we do every day," she explained, coming closer.

More shaking of his head.

He hurt. He didn't want to go to the Room.

She reached for him again, and he whimpered out a complaint, trying to kick her hand away. She grabbed hold of the chain at his ankle, tugging, and Jack wailed, tugging back.

He wouldn't be taken there! He wouldn't, he wouldn't, he _wouldn't_!

"Jack, it'll be fine," she argued.

No, it wouldn't be! She didn't know! She didn't understand.

A scream left him, and the mere thought of going back had him shuddering, tears spilling free over his cheeks. Duma thankfully let go of the chain, and he just lay there.

"Jack, I don't want to force you."

He sobbed at that.

His family hadn't given him a choice.

The Room, the Room, the Room. That's all they wanted from him. It wasn't as if they actually cared. But Nathaniel did. He knew he did. Where was Nathaniel?

"Do you miss Nathaniel?" she asked.

Jack forced himself to quiet at that, holding his breath, body convulsing with a sob that wanted to break free. He let out a long breath, tasting salt on his tongue.

"You do, don't you?"

Jack slowly nodded.

"Jack, if I let you spend some time with Nathaniel, will you cooperate?"

Jack had to stop and think about it. Duma had seemed rather insistent. If he said no she'd find a way to make him go anyway. But this way, he'd at least get to see Nathaniel beforehand. Fear taking hold of him and squeezing his stomach till he was clutching at it, doubled over on the bed, he nodded. Duma grabbed his chain, and this time Jack let her.

* * *

Nathaniel had been thrown in the cell next to Castiel. Hardly anyone had come to see either of them, and Castiel often spent his time battering his cell with his vessel and his Grace, though he knew it was hopeless. When that didn't work, he ended up yelling, yelling and yelling, hoping to annoy someone enough to make them come check on him. Maybe he could somehow get out then. Castiel only wanted out for Jack. It was all about him.

Nathaniel had tried bonding with him in that time, was probably lonely, especially without his boy, which sickened Castiel, but he didn't fall for any of it. Nathaniel was disgusting, and horrible, and didn't deserve any of his attention.

After a week, a week of agony imagining what was happening to Jack, seeing his sunken face and hollow, lost eyes over and over again in his mind, he saw him. He saw him for real.

Duma led Jack past Castiel's cell, and it was impossible to ignore that his son was limping, and Castiel was at the bars. He reached out for him, snagged his hand, and Jack met his gaze questioningly.

"It's me, Jack," he told him. "It's _me_. Your father. Remember?"

Jack looked at Duma, and she told him, "He's not your father."

Jack furrowed his brow, gave Castiel a rather hard look, and then pulled away from him.

"Duma, what are you doing with him?" he growled out.

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Jack!" Nathaniel breathed, relieved at seeing him. It turned Castiel's stomach, and he growled at him, gripping the bars tighter.

Keys were turned in a lock, there was a creak, and then there was a shuffling of feet, before the cell door was closing again. Duma said, "He's not cooperating. I expect you to make him more compliant."

"You're still taking him to that room, aren't you?" Nathaniel asked.

"Of course. If we collect more of his Grace now we can spare him later."

As Duma passed Castiel's cell, he glared after her, wishing that, as the human phrase went, looks could kill.

She ascended the stairs and was out of his sight, when Castiel ran to the far side of the cell, banging his hands against the wall to get his son's attention.

"Jack. Jack, what are they doing to you?" He wanted to ask him if he was okay, but that question was incredibly stupid, and the answer was so obvious it made his chest ache.

It was quiet, and then he heard Nathaniel murmur, "Perhaps you should answer him. It's alright. I know you can do it."

Long seconds passed in which Castiel barely breathed, and then he heard his son's voice, slow and tentative, unsure, "Castiel?"

"Yes, Jack. Yes, it's me."

"Castiel."

"Yes, yes. Castiel. Your father."

"Duma said-"

Castiel shook his head, leaning it against the wall. "Duma, the angels, they're lying to you, Jack. I need you to remember. Can you do that for me? Can you remember?"

"Remember what?"

He slammed his hand against the wall, palm making a smacking sound.

"Nathaniel, help me out here!" Castiel addressed the other angel, and then he squeezed his eyes shut, praying… praying to who? To what? Addressing his son now: "Jack, you have to remember. Remember your family, Sam, and Dean."

"The angels-"

"No, no. Not the angels. Me, Sam, and Dean. _We're_ your family, Jack. It's why I'm here. I'm here to get you out. To take you home."

"Home?"

"Yes. Earth. The bunker. You belong with your family, not up here. Think about it, Jack. Do you hurt?"

There was a long moment before Jack answered, "Yes."

Holding back his tears, swallowing past the lump of emotion in his throat, Castiel asked, "If they were really your family, would they hurt you?"

"Jack, he's telling the truth," Nathaniel said, finally speaking up.

"The Room," Jack went on, voice lost, broken.

There was skin brushing against skin and Castiel didn't want to imagine what was happening, but he could. Nathaniel was probably caressing Jack, maybe his face, or his back.

"Duma promised you'd get to see me if you let her do that thing to you again, didn't she?"

Silence, but Castiel could picture his boy nodding.

Chains rattled, and there was a soft exhale. That exhale was followed by a needy whimper that made him want to stab his eardrums and maybe straight through to his brain. It wouldn't kill him, but just hearing a sound like that from his son was too much. There was a rustle of clothing, some footsteps, Nathaniel's, and then the unmistakable, wet sound of mouths coming together. Castiel had lost his son's attention.

"No, Jack," Nathaniel said, most likely pulling away. "Not now."

"Play."

Now the tears did start to fall, and Castiel let them.

"Jack, stop it," Castiel said. "Don't let him touch you."

The chain rattled, the noise getting closer, and he could imagine Jack feeling the wall separating them with curious fingers.

"Why not?"

"Because it's not good, Jack. He… He doesn't have good intentions."

"Castiel," Nathaniel warned, to which he ended up snarling at him.

"None of the angels have good intentions. I need you to remember that. Do you remember before this?"

His son groaned, and then Nathaniel let out a cry of surprise.

"Jack!" Castiel cried.

"It feels good," he argued.

He whacked his forehead against the wall, not caring that it hurt. Though he couldn't feel temperature he felt hot all over, and his chest and stomach hurt immensely. Was this what it was like to feel heartbroken? He wanted to run to the cell, push Nathaniel away from his son, and hold Jack, press his face into his chest to hide him from the world, and tell him everything was going to be okay.

"I know. I know it feels good," he forced out. "But it's not. It's really, really not."

Castiel searched through his mind, trying in vain to find some way to explain this to Jack, but he realized the concept was beyond a boy of a few months old, even though he was a Nephilim. He wasn't going to understand. Maybe he could keep him talking for the hour, keep him away from Nathaniel.

But then something else was going to happen to him.

Castiel didn't know what it was, but it put a bad taste in his mouth. It had something to do with his Grace. They were taking it from him, but why would the process leave Jack as he was now? Why would it leave him limping? He couldn't make sense of it.

"The bad guys in the movies you watch," Castiel began, "the good guys don't like being touched by them, remember?"

"But-"

"Do you remember?" he cried, desperate now.

"There's… something," he forced out, tone heavy, sounding as if he was about to sob.

"Hey, Jack, it's okay," Nathaniel soothed.

Castiel growled out, "Nathaniel, stay away from him."

"Castiel, this isn't going to stop by you saying a few words. You can't help him, and neither can I. But… But I can try and make him happy. You want to be happy, don't you, Jack?"

His son must have nodded because Nathaniel went on, "Just let me make it easier for him. Please, we'll… we'll figure something out after."

"Do not touch him!"

At least Jack had been talking again, something he had clearly not been doing earlier, but now he seemed content to not speak, most likely doing other things with his mouth that Castiel could hear. Infuriated, he turned and started ramming his shoulder against the wall in the hopes that he could crash through it. It was hopeless, but he couldn't just stand there and listen, while, while…

Jack was moaning now and it was much too obvious that he was being touched.

"Jack!"

"It's okay, Jack," Nathaniel murmured to Castiel's astonishment, making more tears spill free. "We don't have to be rough with each other."

Neither of them were listening to him now, seemingly not caring that he was desperately trying to get into their cell, that he wanted what was happening to _stop_. Oh, how he needed it to stop. It had to, right that moment.

But it didn't. There was kissing, that much was obvious. Lots of kissing, but whether it was lips against lips, or lips against skin, Castiel couldn't tell. Clothing was clearly coming undone, and Castiel sank to his knees, completely hopeless.

In a matter of moments it was impossible to ignore the noises coming from the cell next to him. It was wet and obscene, and Jack's voice had a rough, gravelly edge to it. Nathaniel was sucking his boy off, and there was nothing he could do to stop either of them.

He had expected to continue crying as this went on, but he simply froze, all of him suddenly becoming numb.

This wasn't really happening. No, of course it wasn't. He wasn't in a cell next to his son, hearing him have sex with an angel when he didn't even have the slightest clue what consent was, when he'd been taken advantage of so many times. No, it was impossible.

The wall became incredibly interesting to Castiel, and he found himself running his fingers over the grooves in the white stone, feeling the coldness against his skin. The sounds of skin against skin came from the cell next to him, and a pit was dug out from the middle of his body, leaving him hollow, and yearning for this to not be his life.

There were sounds of pleasure, but no, not from Jack. That couldn't be Jack. This couldn't be happening to him. This wasn't his son's life. This wasn't what was happening to the boy he'd promised he'd protect.

 _Oh, Kelly,_ he thought. _I'm so, so sorry._

If Kelly was here she'd probably strangle him, or at least, Castiel wished that she could. Maybe she could fight all of Heaven to get her son out of this mess.

It surprised him when he heard a word leave Jack's mouth, a word he had thought the boy didn't even know: " _Fuck_."

It was breathy, the word seeming to come from his chest, a sign that he was experiencing very intense sensations, sensations that he had no business knowing existed or having had forced upon him.

And then it was over, both of them breathing heavily, and Castiel was still staring at the wall, trying to find designs in it that he hadn't noticed before. Some of the ridges made it seem like there was a face that stared back at him, mouth open in a silent "o", like it was screaming.

Maybe Castiel was the face.

If he wasn't, he really ought to be. It was fitting.

Screaming and trapped, no one being able to hear you.

Useless.

Nothing more than a face to glance at. Not a player on a board, or a piece in a game. Just a helpless bystander, screaming and screaming and screaming. Though he felt as if he should be screaming, there was only silence in his head, which turned into a buzzing that further numbed him to everything.

"Jack," he murmured.

There was no answer. His son was lost to him once more.


	16. Father

Cael was getting close to Anael. Though she was somehow hiding herself from him, he could feel it. He hadn't adapted to Earth as well as some of the other angels, but he had picked up some skills rather quickly. Right now he was at a motel that she and the Winchesters had been at a few days ago. After threatening a few employees at the motel, it was easy to get the information about them: they had all gotten one room, and had only stayed a night.

It wasn't a lot to go on, but Cael had noticed a pattern, even if the stupid humans thought they were playing him. They were circling the gate. Not in an exact circle, but they were jumping around, sticking close to it.

And he knew just how to draw their attention. Really, he just had to kill someone and make it look interesting. A full moon was coming up and he could fake a werewolf attack easily enough, or he could make it seem like someone had been slaughtered by a vengeful spirit.

There was always the chance that he could simply just kill someone and make it evident it was angel violence and they would come running. Or they might end up running away. He supposed it depended on who they valued more: Anael or the boy.

Cael smiled thinking of him, heard his screams in his head, and he felt familiar excitement bubbling in his stomach. He felt such excitement when he looked at Anael and saw her swollen belly. It wasn't sexual in nature, never had been with him, but it was still rather pleasing. He didn't know why it was there, was surprised that it was, but he decided to just let it happen. What he was doing was right. Heaven would survive. It had to.

After leaving the motel and stepping into the chilly Montana air, Cael got in the car he'd stolen - a silver Honda Accord - and started driving. He made sure he was closer to the gate, a few towns over, drawing nearer to the center of the state, before he stopped to put his plan into action.

During his drive he'd decided that they would most likely have more loyalty towards the boy. In fact, he was surprised that they were protecting Anael after she'd helped ruin the child's innocence. That had been rather fun to watch, seeing Anael reluctant and in a situation that was completely foreign to her. In a sense, it was still quite foreign to Cael, but he now knew a lot from watching.

He knew much more than that too, knew enough about the Winchesters, just like any celestial, demonic, and supernatural being at this point, so it was easy to find someone they'd be interested in. A child, a girl. She was sick, and dying anyway, had a reaper hovering near her, but Cael ended it early, slicing her throat while she lay in her hospital bed. The reaper must have been expecting him because they hadn't made any attempt to stop him, had simply watched, and nodded to him in recognition.

But, to make sure it'd really get their attention, to show that he wasn't some deranged angel of death, as the humans had ironically named doctors who slayed their ailing patients, he had done it in a different body, possessing one of the nurses. She was a woman of faith, and had said yes when he'd claimed he could give her patients peace, and in a way, he had.

The girl was in Heaven now, and if everything with the boy succeeded, that was the most peaceful place to be. The nurse had burned out shortly after killing the girl, giving the reaper extra work, but there were billions of humans while there were only a few angels. Two being sacrificed for the cause was nothing.

Now all he had to do was wait.

* * *

Another week had passed, and Sam and Dean were getting antsy every time they read the news. People were dying, and they could do something about it, but they weren't doing anything. Nope, they were still protecting Anael, who had gotten a bit bigger. Dean frowned and glared daggers every time he saw her, even if it was in the reflection of the Impala's front mirror when she was sitting in the backseat.

After her little adventure in the woods they'd kept her handcuffed and secured to a length of chain, and he and Sam took turns having the chain attached to one of their belt loops. Of course, his brother didn't much like the idea, even after Dean had argued that she was a disgusting rapist. And Sam did what Sam did best, and let his compassion win, explaining that she was just a pawn in all of this, that she couldn't shoulder all the blame.

Dean knew he was right, but he needed to be angry at someone, so he chose her. Besides, she'd obviously done something wrong.

They were in a parking lot by an abandoned department store, eating lunch. Anael sat in the backseat, door open, chain connected to Dean who sat on the trunk, eating his sandwich. Sam sat beside him, tablet in hand.

"I've been searching the news, thinking that, I don't know, in the meantime we could start working again, so get this-"

"Really, Sam? A case?" Dean asked, after wiping at his mouth with a napkin.

Sure, he wanted to work, but…

He went on, "Think we're a bit tied up right now." He tugged on the chain.

"Hey!" Anael exclaimed.

Dean just rolled his eyes, deciding to not look at her so he wouldn't have to see her stomach.

"I know, I know, but this girl and a nurse both died at a hospital."

"And? It's a hospital, Sam. People die."

"The girl had her throat slashed, and the nurse had her eyes burned out," Sam finished, putting his tablet down and finally touching his food. Sam wasn't eating well at all, but Dean didn't blame him. Just a few days ago Sam had made him smuggle some anti-nausea meds from a pharmacy, a clear sign that he was feeling off.

"Hey, Anael," Dean said at that, "sounds like one of your friends has been busy."

"Dean, you don't have to be a bully," Sam reasoned.

"What, I can't be mean to the _angel_ who _raped_ our son and got fucking pregnant?"

Sam grimaced. "Please don't say that."

"It's true."

"Yeah, but-"

"Come on, man, we gotta face the facts here. When we get Jack back he's gonna be a mess. That's just how this shit goes."

"Okay, but can we just not talk about it?"

"Wow, for once you actually don't wanna talk about your feelings?"

"Well, yeah, Dean. They're really crappy feelings."

"That's an understatement," Anael added.

Dean turned, pointing a stern finger at her, knocking his sandwich to the pavement as he did so. "You, stay out of this."

She shot him a nasty look, and he did the immature thing and gave her one right back. Then he started grumbling about his sandwich. Sam just pat his shoulder, telling him he'd take a quick walk to the café to get him another one.

That left Dean all alone with Anael.

She got out of the Impala, the motion seeming a bit challenging, and then she walked over to him.

"What?" he asked.

"Maybe you should take the case," she said.

"Yeah, and why's that? You want your winged buddy to kill us?"

Anael leaned against the Impala, making it so she was much closer to him, and Dean was intrigued and uncomfortable all at once.

"Maybe," she responded with a smirk.

He searched her eyes, trying to figure out her plan, but he found nothing. He shifted, pulling his legs up, resting his booted feet on the trunk. Anael's hand was now on his car, and he let her keep it there.

"It's obviously a trap. We could spring it, and then we threaten the baby, and-"

"You know Sam doesn't like that idea."

"He doesn't have to like it. What do you think of it?"

"I think it could work."

She nodded, rubbing a hand over her belly now.

Dean felt his lips turn down at the corners, swallowing roughly as his eyes focused on her stomach. Oh god, there was a child in there. _Jack's_ child. He wished that they didn't exist, that somehow they could go back in time, keep Jack from running away.

But the child did exist, and Dean didn't know what to do about it. Anael's plan seemed like a good one, and he wasn't at all uncomfortable with it, but he knew he wouldn't actually be able to kill the child if that's what it came to. He hated their existence, hated the reason for it, felt sickened down to his core, but no, he couldn't kill them. They hadn't done anything wrong.

God, this was like last year all over again, but instead of someone being pregnant with the spawn of Satan, they were pregnant with the spawn of Satan's spawn. Dean wondered if the child would be even more powerful than Jack, something that didn't sit well with him.

None of this did.

There was no going back and changing any of this, only moving forward, and he supposed he was going to have to get used to the idea that Anael was going to give birth, and they'd have yet another kid to take care of. It'd been hard with Jack at first, real hard, but the kid had softened him. It was impossible to not love Jack, and he no longer felt like some glaring responsibility, some walking time bomb that was suddenly going to destroy all of them because he'd had a bad day.

Jack he could handle.

Jack's kid he didn't even want to think about.

There was always abortion, but he figured Anael was too far along for that, and Dean wasn't sure what he thought of that. It wasn't his business to have an opinion on it. Women should be able to do what they wanted with their bodies.

"Dean, I know you don't like me."

"Yeah, what gives you that idea?"

She just exhaled hard through her nose at that, drawing closer, getting in his personal space in a threatening kind of way. Dean didn't move, rather just sizing up the situation. She couldn't do much with the cuffs on, but she was still strong.

"Look, after all of this, I can just go away. I… I can even take the child with me. Jack doesn't even know it's his, so…"

"Do you want him to know?"

"I don't know. He's too young."

"Maybe you should've thought of that before you put your hands on him," Dean growled out, shoving himself off from the car to get to his feet.

Anael grabbed his wrist, and he didn't pull away.

"I did what I had to do," she told him. "I didn't like it, but I did it. You think I enjoyed doing that to him? You think I enjoyed touching a boy who doesn't even know what's happening to him?"

Dean leaned in, and he felt one of her hands traveling along him, but he didn't care much since she wasn't near any of his weapons. He just kept his eyes on her face.

"I think you wanted to see how far the angels would make you go, and no one stopped you, so you just went for it. I think you wanted to know what it feels like to be with someone in that way. Well, let me tell you something, sweetheart, it feels friggin' great, but _only when they want it_."

"He _did_ want it," she argued. "He was the one who took my clothes off. He was the one who pulled me over to the bed, and-"

"Oh, spare me the details, I know how sex works."

She sidled up closer to him, and Dean felt his pulse thrumming away, heat filling him. It made him want to punch something.

"Do you?" she breathed.

"Yeah, and I know Jack doesn't have a clue what he's doing."

"But you do."

Dean wasn't really sure what was happening anymore. Anael was flooding his vision, and he could feel his body moving, felt hers moving, and then their lips were crushed together. He bit hard on her bottom lip until he tasted blood, and he felt her hands on his jeans. He growled at her, and she pushed back against him, trying to bite him as well.

She shoved him off of her, and he wiped her blood from his lips, licking up the coppery taste that still remained. Anael was smiling at him, and that was when Dean realized she had the chain free.

Son of a bitch, she'd just been playing him!

Her eyes glowed a mixture of blue and gold, reminding him a bit of Jack's golden eyes, and then the handcuffs burned red hot and she snapped them. He froze at this display of power for a second, pulse skipping a beat. The baby. It was the baby. Anael's eyes back to their normal color now, she stood there, staring at him, daring him to do something about it.

"Get back in the car," Dean ordered.

"Make me."

Dean wasn't playing around anymore, didn't want to fall for any of her tricks again, so he pulled his gun on her. The safety was still on, but she didn't have to know that.

"Get in the friggin' car!"

Anael walked up to him, took his hands into hers, and pressed the gun against her belly.

"You gonna shoot me, Dean?" she asked. "I'm not your prisoner. I refuse to be your prisoner. I did what I had to do get close to Jack, and yeah, I screwed up. I really screwed up, but I want to save him, too. I want him out of that hell the angels have turned Heaven into. No one deserves what he's going through, so I will help you. But you could always just shoot me, shoot the baby, and be done with it. It won't kill me, but the baby? Who knows. I know you wish they didn't exist. I wish it too.

"But kill the baby now and we lose our leverage. The angels want the baby. I say we make it look like we're going to give it to them. Or you could just be all macho and pull that trigger. Who needs kids anyway, right?"

She gripped his hand hard, making the gun press against her with more force, and he felt his fingers start shaking now, sweat beading on his forehead.

It was just her, just her words, and the blood rushing in his ears.

He could do it, pull the trigger, kill the child, solve one of their problems.

It'd be so easy. Just thumb the safety back, a little squeeze of his finger and all that baggage would be blasted away.

Dean felt pressure against the gun, just a little bit of force.

A kick.

The baby had just kicked.

His kid's child was alive in there.

Dean lowered the gun, letting out a long exhale.

It was difficult to pretend he didn't see the disappointment on Anael's face. A mother who didn't love her child, and a father who didn't know they existed.

They were going to lead a very lonely life.

But maybe that was better than no life at all.

It made Dean question what the point of all this was. What was the point of going on, of being alive, of dealing with all of this shit? Why was he around? Because he'd been born? Was that it? Everything seemed very large and messy in that moment, and Dean collapsed onto the Impala with a sigh, feeling very small and very insignificant.

He forced those feelings down, buried them deep, and took the reality he was given in that moment. He was in a parking lot, waiting for Sam to bring him his sandwich, Anael beside him, now freed from her cuffs, and Jack and Castiel were in Heaven and needed saving.

Dean decided he'd stick around long enough to see the end of this. He owed his family that much.

* * *

Duma had stopped the procedures with Jack. It wasn't working anymore, hadn't worked in awhile, and she thought it was because of the chains. But he was so hurt that he was volatile now, often tried lashing out, even when his own powers hurt him. They'd tried operating on his head, but it didn't seem to be doing much anymore. Jack was pained and conflicted, and he was mentally worn down. Physically, they had to heal him now from the procedures in that room they took him to, but they couldn't fix his food and water intake. With Heaven the way it was the angels could only heal so much, and starvation was something that would take multiple healing sessions, something that none of them really wanted to put energy towards, except for maybe Ariel.

Once they got Anael back and her giving birth was a success, Ariel was next for carrying his child. Well, many of them would be impregnated after Anael's pregnancy showed itself to be a success, but right now they still had to tread carefully. They weren't breeding a Nephilim, but something else, something that was almost angel, but not quite.

Duma supposed it wasn't much of a problem that they weren't doing the procedures on Jack anymore. They had more than enough from him for now. So she kept him busy with Laila, Ariel, and Tamiel, along with Nathaniel.

Until Cael reported back, there wasn't much else to do, but stay in Heaven to keep it running.

She kept finding herself wanting to go talk to Castiel, if only to ask him if he felt any remorse for killing Indra. Indra had been a good, loyal angel, had never done anything wrong, and Castiel had snuffed out his light, taking him from the world.

It was cruel, but at least his end had been swift, and not drawn out and painful.

Duma mourned him, mourned the state of Heaven, and even while giving all the orders, she felt helpless, trapped, and lonely.

Heaven was empty without its angels, and the periods of darkness grew with Cael's and Indra's absence.

Duma was in the room adjacent to Jack's now, and she watched him. He lay on his bed, not moving, a tear trailing over his nose, before dripping onto his pillow. If only there was a way to save the boy they needed to use.

She sighed, as she watched him. She supposed now was as good a time as any to take him to Nathaniel once more, if only to help keep Jack alive another day.

* * *

Castiel had grown used to Jack visiting Nathaniel, and he was used to not feeling anymore. He wondered if this was what it was like for Jack, just emptiness.

Or perhaps not. His boy looked to be in a great deal of pain, the mental strain too much for his young mind even though he was the most powerful being in the universe aside from God.

Just like she did most days now, Duma brought Jack to Nathaniel, staring at him hard as she passed him by, her lips in a tight line, but she said nothing to him.

"Not today, Jack," Nathaniel said once Duma had left. "I'm tired."

Castiel could imagine Jack's confusion at that. Angels didn't get tired, but even though he despised Nathaniel he knew what he meant. He was tired of hurting Jack, even if he didn't realize he was hurting him.

Castiel was tired too, tired of all of it.

"Jack, do you remember me?" Castiel asked as he always did when he was near him. "I'm Castiel, your father."

"I think they drilled into his head again," Nathaniel informed him. Then he went on, no longer talking to him, "Yes, Jack. Yes, I know you want to play, but I don't feel like it right now. Come on, don't give me that face, you know I care about you… We can play in a bit.

"Castiel, I'm sorry. I truly don't wish to touch him."

"Then _don't_."

Jack started whining, and Castiel clenched his jaw, turning his head away.

"Maybe we can try getting him to talk again."

"Jack, I said no."

There was a slapping sound, and then a quick shuffle of footsteps, chains rattling. Castiel was up on his feet now, near the wall.

"Did you just hit him?" he asked, outraged.

"I had to!"

"You don't have to lay a single finger on him! None of you has to touch him!"

"Castiel, you don't understand. I was trying to save Heaven!"

"Maybe it doesn't _deserve_ saving."

"The Earth will fall into chaos if we don't do this!"

"But you wanted him out yourself," Castiel argued. "You know it's wrong. You know all of it is wrong, so don't you dare touch my son ever again! I have had to sit here and listen to you, the both of you, and I am _sick_ of it. I am absolutely sickened by the depravity of you and the rest of the angels. None of you deserve saving if you think it's okay to hurt my boy!"

"He's just one person. He's a sacrifice for something greater."

"A sacrifice who's getting served up to all of you like he's a piece of meat, like he doesn't have a mind of his own. Jack has the right to not be touched, to do what he wants with his body, to-to _heal_ from all this! He has the right to live _free_. Don't you want that for him? You pretend to care, but they're just _words_ , lies that you tell him to get him to cooperate, to make him nice and compliant for the other angels to do their disgusting work."

Castiel was up against the wall now, hands on it, imagining Nathaniel's face as he spoke. He wished more than anything that there wasn't a wall in between them and that he had an angel blade so he could stab Nathaniel till only a bloody pulp remained. Heaven deserved to fall. Yes, that would bring chaos to Earth, but the chaos was worth it if it spared Jack, if it saved his soul and his Grace. Why could none of them see that? Why did they have to hurt his son? _Why?_

"I bet you're _enjoying_ this, having him brought to you like some kind of treat. Well-"

Castiel was suddenly cut off by a very loud scream, and he was blown backwards, chunks of rock flying and hitting him. He landed on the floor hard, stone piling up around him, metal screeching, and he could feel pure energy radiating outwards from a single source.

Jack.

All he could do as his son continued to scream and batter away at Heaven with his powers was hold his hands over his head, and hope to survive.

Castiel was sure Jack had the ability to kill him.

After long, fear-filled seconds, his screams stopped, and Castiel shoved himself up out of the rubble, not bothering to brush the dust off of himself or his clothing, and he was coated in white. Nathaniel was curled up in the corner of his cell, also covered in white powder, but Castiel was the one who had gotten the brunt of Jack's emotional outburst, due to the wall being pushed on him. Nathaniel had a bloody nose, and blood ran from his ears. Castiel felt liquid heat near his jaw, and he raised his hand up, dabbing at what was there before checking. His ears were bleeding as well.

Jack lowered his hands, the chains and cuffs were in misshapen shards at his feet, looking like they'd been heated and then pounded away at with a hammer till they broke. Symbols burned bright in them, the power sparking out of them, and flowing out into the room around them. Jack seemed to soak it up, and he turned to Castiel slowly, tears in his eyes.

There was something in his eyes that Castiel had longed to see, had missed, had prayed for every day and night though he knew God wasn't listening: recognition.

"Father."


	17. Sorry

**A/N: Sorry it took awhile to get this chapter out. I've been feeling really sick lately.**

* * *

Jack collapsed, and Castiel rushed forward, catching him, and lowering him gently to the floor. He was all wrong in his arms, bony and frail, not feeling at all like his son, but still he held him.

"Father," Jack repeated.

"Yes, Jack," Castiel breathed. "Yes, it's me."

A tear trailed from Jack's eye into his hair, and Castiel held him as if he were fragile, one arm wrapped around him and keeping him to his body, his legs drawn up to keep him close, his other hand cradling his head, thumb brushing against his ear.

Jack reached out for him, his hand shaking, and then he was holding onto him, pressing his face into his chest, face scrunched up in despair.

" _Father_."

Scrapes met Castiel's ear as stone was brushed aside, and then Nathaniel was getting to his feet. Castiel held onto his boy harder, baring his teeth at the other angel. Though he'd tried to help with the earlier escape attempt, he'd done much damage since then, and he'd had to listen to it.

"Don't come any closer," he warned, voice low.

Nathaniel just held his hands up, taking a step back.

He knew that this didn't change much about their physical situation, that though Jack remembered him, they still couldn't get free. Jack's chains had been broken, and some of his memory had been restored, or perhaps all of it, and their cells had been destroyed, but the three of them were still prisoners, and it would only be a matter of time before they would be discovered like this.

But Castiel didn't think of any of that, just thought of the here and now, of how he had Jack for this moment, and that for this moment, he wasn't being hurt.

In mere minutes, Duma and a handful of angels were down there to contain the situation, but Jack didn't want to leave, and with the chains off he was incredibly dangerous.

"Castiel, we need him back," Duma said.

"You think I'm going to give him back to you after what you've done to him? You've ruined him!"

Jack whimpered at him raising his voice, and he pet his hair, murmuring, "Shh… Shh… I'm sorry, Jack." Castiel wanted to add that it was alright, but he wasn't about to lie to his son.

"Don't let them take me," he told him.

Castiel wanted to promise that he wouldn't, but he wasn't sure if that was a promise that he could keep, so he said nothing, which made Jack hold onto him harder.

Nathaniel was standing now, putting himself between Castiel and Jack, and Duma and the other angels - there were four others, too many to fight.

"Nathaniel, step aside," Duma told him.

"No, can't you see he's had enough? You've worn him out. Just… Just let him rest. _Please_."

Duma shoved her way past Nathaniel, and Castiel raised up his arm to shield Jack. Jack had noticed her movement as well, and raised up his hand, letting out a ferocious scream that almost sounded like a roar, hand outstretched. Golden energy surged out from his hand, ramming into Duma, and then finally the other angels. It sent them falling backwards, near the stairs, the walls and floor cracking where they slammed against it, bones breaking.

Castiel's eyes were wide as he went from looking to the fallen angels, who were groaning, the air ringing with power as they began putting themselves back together, to his son, who was lowering his hand. He had the urge to let go of him, frightened from the display of power. His son pried himself from his arms, and unsteadily clambered to his feet. It was ironic looking upon him, upon someone so damaged, who was so clean compared to him, who was free from dust and blood, which was now running down Castiel's neck to soak into the collar of his shirt. Jack held his left hand up in a warning, as the angels rose, eyes searing as they turned on him.

His lips trembled, mouth open as if he wanted to say something, and a tear fell from his eye. Castiel was on his knees now, fingers of his right hand against the dirtied floor. He was taking in the situation, trying to figure out who would make the first move.

Laila - now healed from where he'd stabbed her before his imprisonment - was by the stairs, and Castiel had thought maybe she'd be far enough away from Jack to not appear as threatening as the others, but her standing to her full height and putting one foot back on the first step, was enough to set Jack off again. This time his attack reached Castiel as well, and he fell forward, hands clutching desperately at his head, the other angels doing the same, as they were all filled with an immense crushing fear, as if the world around them were falling to pieces, and they were left scrabbling at the remains, barely holding on, nails scraping against drifting pieces of sanity, searching for a handhold, for anything, for something to keep them safe as reality fell apart around them. Castiel was left screaming from it, doubled over, head against the floor, and all the other angels were screaming as well. The sensation pounded like a drum, like blackness that encroached on him, and it attacked with a strong pulse, a thrum of sensation, before it receded, leaving echoes, whispers of frightful agony, only to strike once more, a powerful throb of despair.

Castiel was blinded from it, and it lasted endless seconds.

And just as the drum beat at him, something else began to tug, and Castiel felt as if he had to hold himself together, like something was attempting to rip him apart from the inside. And then it succeeded, his core exploding with fire.

The drum kept drumming, as that thing kept tugging, and he was beaten and bruised and burning, alight with a distress that only a confused child could feel.

Finally, his son mercifully lowered his hand.

Once Castiel was able to collect himself he realized what had happened; Jack had just given them a glimpse into his own mind, had attacked the angels with the very pain that they had put upon him, and they'd been incapacitated by it, and Castiel was left, almost begging to feel it again, if only to understand what his son had gone through, to feel the punishment for his failure to protect him.

Slowly, he lifted his head up, tears streaking through the white dust on his face, the blood trailing from his ears drying, and he saw Jack, still standing, the other angels, fallen once more.

" _Stay. Back_ ," Jack growled at them.

Duma was the first one to stand, and she was blinking rapidly, eyes frantically taking in the boy who stood before her, perhaps understanding what it was he'd just placed in her mind. Or perhaps she was still struggling to understand.

"We will," she told Jack. "We will. Everything's alright, Jack. We just need you to come with us."

"Don't listen to her," Castiel told him quietly.

He found his strength, and now he stood beside his son, carefully putting a protective hand on his shoulder. Jack flinched, the motion tearing at Castiel's Grace, but then he tilted towards him ever so slightly.

"I'm not going with you," he told her. "I'm going to stay right here."

"And what will you do?" she asked. "This is a prison, Jack. There's nothing to eat, nothing to drink, nowhere comfy to sleep. Eventually you'll have to leave."

"No. I'm staying with Castiel."

"Duma, leave," Castiel told her.

"I'm not leaving until we have the boy."

"You're not getting me," Jack argued.

"Perhaps we can come to a compromise," Nathaniel suggested, who had crawled behind Jack and was kneeling.

Nathaniel and Duma both snapped at him, "Stay out of it!"

He raised his hands once more and sat back on his heels, giving them an innocent look.

"I'm not going with you," Jack told the other angels. "So just walk back up those stairs, and leave me be."

"Jack, we-" Duma began.

"Need me to save Heaven," he finished.

As if to prove their point, the lights chose that moment to dim, plunging them all in darkness, and Castiel felt his hopes sinking. But the angels didn't move, no one did. None of them were even breathing. They didn't have to, merely did out of a habit they'd acquired from their vessels, but now it felt as if the breaths they were holding were collecting, were building up inside of them, the air around them pressing, questing for entry, for movement, for something to happen. Jack's eyes burned gold, and Castiel could feel a crackle of power tinging the air though his son wasn't using his powers, he was simply holding them at the ready. The crackling rose and fell unevenly, showing that he didn't have much control over himself, didn't know what he was doing.

"I know."

"Jack, you've already done so well," Duma told him.

"Why do you touch me?" he asked.

"Jack-"

" _Why do you touch me?_ "

The crackling turned into a spark, and scarlet flared in the dark, a miniature explosion setting off in between them, the force of it blowing their hair and clothes back, and powder from the crumbled stone was swept into their eyes, stinging them.

The lights surged once more, bathing them all in light, showing Castiel the faces of his son's captors.

He leaned down to Jack and murmured to him, "Jack, we can talk about that later."

His son turned to him, eyes watery. "Cas… _Why?_ I don't understand." His words were so quiet they were nearly a pained whisper.

Castiel looked at the angels, and he held out his hand, a signal for them to stay where they were, and he turned Jack to face him. His son kept his eye on the angels who had touched him, the angels who had hurt him, and Castiel put a hand on his chin, and slowly turned him to face him.

"What they've been doing to you," he began, "it's not something that can be explained in a few seconds."

Jack shuffled nervously, eyes flitting to the side, towards the other angels, but Castiel was keeping his senses focused on them - they weren't moving.

"B-but we have more than a few seconds. Don't we?"

"We do, but I'm not sure I'm the best person to tell you."

"Then who?"

"Sam."

"Sam. I want to see Sam."

Castiel smiled at him. "You will see Sam. I promise. But not yet. Let's just get through today, alright?"

Jack nodded, and Castiel pulled him into a hug, hand against the back of his head. Jack's fingers were like talons in his coat, not wanting to let go, and he faced the angels, fire in his eyes, and a statement: they weren't going to have him. Not today.

Castiel ran a hand through his hair, and he nodded at Nathaniel, a signal for him to rise. He did so, placing himself off to the side, but nearly in front of Jack in case the angels tried something.

"You're going to go back up those stairs," Castiel said, "and you're going to let us through."

"No," Duma argued. "Don't you understand? We _need_ him."

"I understand that you're desperate," he told her, "but that's all. I don't understand what led you to do what you've done. How can desperation drive you to such things? To such depravity? Look at him."

Jack had turned his head, was looking at the angels now, and Castiel felt his wrist getting wet with tears that were dripping off of his chin.

" _Look at him._ _Look what you did_." Castiel waited, even lowering his arm, which Jack didn't object to, letting them take in the sight of his son, letting them see the hurt boy in his arms. "You're going to have to live with that."

"Indra won't have to," Duma told him.

"Maybe none of you should!" Castiel shouted, making Jack cringe into his chest, and now he was protecting his son's head, though he still had one hand on his back, unable to believe how bony he was. "Maybe this should end with Jack walking out of here with all of you _dead_."

"He wouldn't. Besides, you wouldn't let him. You know the consequences."

"Castiel," Nathaniel started, "it's too dangerous. Earth would fall into ruin."

Castiel knew that, of course, but what choice did he have?

"Duma, let us pass."

She signaled to the other angels around her, and ordered, "Go back up to the gate and keep watch for Cael. He should be closing in."

They nodded their assent, and then left. Duma crossed her arms, and stood her ground.

"I'm staying right here."

"And so are we," Castiel informed her.

Maybe this was all he could do for now, hold of his son against being taken from him. He supposed it was better than nothing.

Castiel let go of Jack, and he held his face in his hands, nearly grimacing from feeling the sharp outline of his cheekbones against his hands, and the sunken state of his skin.

"Jack, I know things are very scary right now, but we're going to hold out as long as we can. You're going to have to be very brave."

"I'm… I'm not brave," he told him simply.

" _Yes_ , _you are_ ," he insisted. "Do you understand? You are far braver than I could ever be. You are still here, still standing despite everything."

Jack's gaze traveled upwards, brown eyes meeting his, before darting down again, and then his jaw was clenching, lips trembling, nostrils flaring. It reminded Castiel of watching a small child trying very hard to not cry, and Jack had already done a lot of crying.

"Are you mad at me?" he eventually asked.

It was rare that Castiel ever used his father's name, but now was a time that called for it: "Oh god, Jack, no. _No_." He pulled him into another hug and kissed the top of his head. "I could never, _ever_ be mad at you. You haven't done anything wrong."

"B-but I r-ran a-away!" he argued. "A-and I-I h-hurt y-you, an-and S-Sam and D-Dean, a-a-and-"

"Jack, I'm not mad at you. And Sam and Dean aren't either. I've missed you. _They_ miss you. Things haven't been right without you."

Castiel tried to ignore that Duma was seeing this moment, but for now she did nothing, so he allowed it. If this was the best he could get for now, that would have to do, but they couldn't stay like this forever. Something was going to have to change, and something eventually would.

But he knew situations like this could last hours, maybe even days. As Dean would say, they were just going to have to play their cards right.

He pulled away from Jack, but still kept a hand on his shoulder, and then he got him to sit in the corner that was farthest away from Duma, and Castiel stood at the wall by him, acting as his guard. Nathaniel placed himself on his other side, and Jack, though distressed, seemed to understand some of what was going on, because he didn't try to move. Duma just pursed her lips at them and said, "He's going to have to leave sometime. He'll need water."

Castiel huffed air out through his nose, standing with his feet shoulder width apart, hoping he seemed menacing, and in case Duma was paying attention, he flared his broken wings, having them hover over Jack, making himself seem bigger than he really was.

He then used a phrase he'd heard his human family use many times: "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

* * *

Jack started to feel a burning in his body, and he glanced at his father before turning his attention to Nathaniel. He didn't understand most of what had been done to him, but he knew he wanted playtime. He looked at Duma, who had sat down on the steps now, and was looking at him intently.

"You don't actually need him right now, do you?" Nathaniel asked Duma.

She immediately responded, "I don't know what you mean."

Nathaniel looked at Jack, and Jack realized he must've been talking about the Room. Duma hadn't taken him to the Room for some time. She had seemed frustrated with him and the Room lately, though he didn't know why. It frightened him. Jack shivered, hugging his knees to his chest.

"If you needed him you wouldn't just be sitting there. You would've come up with a plan to take him."

"I hate to spoil your hope there, Nathaniel, but if you haven't noticed, he's free of his chains, and he's dangerous."

Dangerous. Jack liked the sound of that.

But he hadn't been dangerous enough to escape. No, instead he was stuck there. But at least he had his father with him. Part of him wanted to go over to Castiel and tug on his pant leg, get his attention, ask him what was going to happen after this.

Instead, Nathaniel crouched down by him, making Castiel shift, and Jack gave his father a questioning look. What was wrong?

With Nathaniel close, and feeling that burning in his body he reached out to him, caressed his face. Some sort of noise of displeasure left Castiel, but he didn't know why.

Nathaniel pried his hand off of him gently, holding onto his wrist, and Jack held back a whine.

"Jack," he asked, "has Duma been taking you to that room?"

"No."

"Do you know why?"

He shook his head, stomach churning, goosebumps rising up on his skin at the mere thought of the Room. Now he did pull away from Nathaniel, and he went to stand by Castiel, holding onto his arm. Castiel clutched at his hand, but kept his eyes on Duma, guarding him from her.

"What have you been doing to him?" Castiel asked.

Jack shook his head, and lowered it, burying his face against Castiel's shoulder. He didn't want to hear it.

"What needs to be done," Duma answered.

"Duma-"

"Stop! Stop talking about it!" Jack interrupted.

He drew on what he had earlier, drew on that deep well of darkness and confusion in his chest, and aimed it outwards. Castiel, Nathaniel, and Duma fell, nails bloodying as they scraped at the floor, skin pulling taut and white over their knuckles, jaws clenched till their teeth made eerie cracking noises. The sounds of their agony didn't come in screams, but in low, gravely moans that seemed to speak of the end of days.

And he stood there, shaking as they, too, trembled with all they were feeling. Jack was whimpering, unable to hold it back.

No, no, no, no, no.

This wasn't right. None of this was right.

He just wanted to go home.

But he was home!

No, he wasn't!

Where was home?

He didn't know.

There was a bunker…

The memory was faint, as were the memories of Sam, and Dean, but Castiel was there. He remembered him, talking to him even before he was born, his hand on his mother's stomach.

Mommy. He wanted his mommy.

Now thinking of his mom, he released his powers, and the angels around him gasped in relief. Jack looked down at Castiel, guilt digging into his chest, till an aching hole that wanted to eat him remained.

"Jack," Duma addressed him now that she had gather herself, "I won't bring you back there if you come with me now, but if you don't, I can't promise anything."

A chill ran through him at that, and he raised his head, eyes darting up to look at her. Jack found that he couldn't meet her eyes and instead looked at her nose. Was she lying? He didn't know. He remembered what the angels had done to him, but he couldn't make sense of it. His head was a jumble of differing information, and even some of that information told him that his father was bad. Part of him was inclined to believe it.

"Jack, don't listen to her," Castiel said, standing by him once more. "She's lying to you."

"No, Jack, your father is lying to you."

He screamed again, hating how their voices were all confusing, hating how he didn't know who to listen to.

Maybe Castiel was lying.

Maybe Duma was lying.

But no, Castiel was his father, and Duma had said earlier that Castiel wasn't, so why should he believe anything she was saying?

Her words were empty.

But the Room.

He didn't want to go back to the Room.

He accidently released more power with his scream, this time catching them all in a bone-crushing wave of energy, and Castiel was leaning against the wall, one hand grasping at Jack's arm.

Jack had to hold out. He had to hold out as long as possible. He wouldn't go back. He wouldn't, he wouldn't, he wouldn't. Surely she'd just take him back there.

" _You're_ lying," he told her, once he released the energy, the golden wave fading. "I'm staying here."

"What about playtime?" she asked breathlessly, a hand on her chest, her breaths whistling in her chest - perhaps he'd damaged some of her ribs. "You're going to start to miss that."

A low groan left Jack. He'd already started thinking about it. Before all this he'd wanted to play with Nathaniel, but then he'd slapped him, and then Nathaniel and his father had argued, and then… and then everything had come rushing back to him. It was so overwhelming he wasn't even sure what to do. Should he pretend he'd never been captured? Should he pretend his memories hadn't come back? Should he listen to the angels? Should he somehow find a way to honor both parts of his life? Should he just let all of it burn and push himself down until nothing remained?

"Quiet," Castiel growled.

"Cas," he began, making his father finally turn to him. "Can I?" he asked. "With Nathaniel?"

"No, Jack. No, you don't understand. It's… It's hurting you."

"But it doesn't hurt," he argued.

It didn't hurt. It felt good. It was fun.

"Jack, if you come with me, I can get Tamiel or Ariel to play with you," Duma said.  
"I know they're some of your favorites."

He shook his head.

If he wanted to play with someone in a female vessel he wanted Anael.

"No, not them," he said. "I want Anael," he told her.

"Anael's gone."

"Where is she?"

After a pause: "I don't know."

Castiel answered, "She's with Sam and Dean. They're taking care of her."

Castiel smelled unsure with his last sentence, but Jack let it slide. He knew the angels didn't like that Anael was going to have a baby, so he assumed his other family members probably felt the same, though he couldn't understand why.

"Cas, please," he begged.

Castiel took his face in his hands, and he sensed Nathaniel getting to his feet. Jack reached back for him, and he felt his hand in his, warm, reassuring, familiar.

"Jack," his father told him, "you have to stay strong. I know you're hurting, I know you want what makes you feel good, but I'm telling you _no_. No, you can't have it."

It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. Why couldn't he? He didn't understand. His bottom lip started to tremble, and once again that day, he felt like he was going to cry. Jack was sick of crying. He lowered his head, and then turned away from Castiel.

"Jack! Jack, no! _Jack!_ "

Jack ignored him, was too busy trying to find Nathaniel's lips, hands already greedily pulling at his pants. Nathaniel backed up against the wall, and Jack followed.

His father pulled him off of him, and Jack, though much stronger than angels, found himself too weak to fight back, and he fell against his father. He did his best to free himself, slapping and tugging and clawing, but Castiel held him tight, and eventually he fell against him, sobbing once more.

"I'm sorry!" he cried. "I'm sorry!" Jack didn't even know what he was apologizing for, but he felt as if he'd hurt his father deeply, felt as if he'd hurt everyone around him.

Castiel lowered him to the floor, and over his sobs he heard him saying he didn't have anything to feel sorry for.

But he was wrong.

Jack was sorry for everything.

Wherever Anael was, he hoped she was doing better than he was.

* * *

Much to his brother's dismay, Sam dropped Dean's sandwich when he got back and saw that Anael was free of the handcuffs and no longer chained. His brother started immediately swearing, and Sam cut him off, furrowing his brow, gesturing at the pregnant angel, "Um… what? How?"

A confusing explanation about Anael kissing Dean - which made Sam roll his eyes - to distract him followed, and then Anael talked about how the baby had used its powers through her, sort of like a conduit, to break the handcuffs.

"And yet you're still here," Sam pointed out when she finished her explanation.

"You two need me, and I hate to admit, but I need you. I'm just sick of being your prisoner. So since that's all sorted, what are we going to do about that case you found?"

"I say we spring the trap," Dean said.

Sam agreed with him, but they needed to do more than that. They were going to be up against an angel, one who had held their son captive, and needed Anael.

"You know, we could've used the prisoner thing to our advantage," Sam told her, as he stepped over Dean's unsalvageable sandwich, and over to them where they sat on the Impala. He was surprised his brother was letting her do so, but maybe she hadn't given him a choice.

"We still can," she told him. "Just spring the trap, and then pull a knife on me."

Sam grimaced, and Dean looked down, cheeks coloring in shame for some reason that he couldn't fathom.

"I can't do it," he told her. "I'd… I'd have to actually be prepared to use it if things didn't go our way."

Dean spoke up, "I'll do it."

"Dean, but-"

"I know what just happened," he told her, leaving Sam even more confused. "But I'm not gonna ask my brother to do something like that. If it comes to it, I'll do it. You just gotta give me the okay."

The three of them remained in silence for a bit, the biting wind blowing their clothes and hair about, and Sam lowered his head, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

Anael was rubbing her stomach again, and Sam's lip curled in disgust, jaw clenching, as he watched her. He wished to all there was that that baby in her didn't exist. But they did, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

But if they did this, if Dean really had to kill an unborn child, that wasn't something they could take back. They were going to have to live with it. All three of them.

It was like weighing their life over Jack's. Jack who'd only been alive a few months, to a baby who hadn't even been born. An age old argument that Sam didn't have an answer to, and really, Sam loved babies, had once pictured himself holding one with a wife at his side, and that wife had been going to be Jess. But that dream had been set on fire and had gone up in smoke.

And in a way, he'd been given another chance with Jack, and he'd lost it when he'd run away.

Potentially killing an unborn child, _Jack's_ unborn child could give him that chance back.

But was Sam really that selfish?

But what about Jack? What would Jack want?

Surely saving him was important.

As he stood there, watching the mother-to-be, he realized he didn't know what the right thing to do was, but maybe it wasn't his to decide. Though, it was his son's well-being that was at stake, but Jack wasn't the only one who would be affected by their decision. The baby would be, Anael would be, the angels would be, the world would be. Getting Jack back would set off a chain reaction that they would have to be willing to face.

After a long time in which they all wished none of them held any responsibility for this, Anael nodded. "Let's do it," she told them.

Sam sucked in a breath. And so it was decided.


	18. Zero Seconds

The hospital was a good seven hour drive from where they were, so they ended up getting a motel room for the night. As much as Sam and Dean hated it, they wanted to be well-rested before springing the trap. But that meant another night that Jack was imprisoned.

Anael hated that they only got one room. It was immensely awkward watching them go about their human things: eating, drinking, taking turns in the bathroom, hearing the water run as they showered, brushing their teeth, sleeping. And it was awkward because of the things her body decided it needed to do as well - her breasts had gotten bigger, her areolae darkening, and she'd had to use the bathroom to stuff tissues in her bra and then dared the men with her to say anything about it. It wasn't her fault that her body was reacting in such a human way and deciding to leak, or whatever it was doing. The only really good thing about her pregnancy was that it made her hair much fuller, and maybe that was one of the reasons Sam and Dean had lingering looks. Another stupid thing that her body decided it needed to do was increase circulation to her pelvis, so she ended up liking their looks, but she knew they were off limits, just as Jack should've been.

They talked to each other and talked to her as they went about doing the odd things they needed to do to stay alive though the tension was coiled tightly about them, but it didn't seem strange to either of them that their bodies needed so much upkeep to stay in working condition. They didn't even seem to do it properly. Dean was drinking more alcohol than water. Sam wasn't eating enough. Dean was eating junk food. She knew they didn't sleep well, and often had nightmares. How were they even still functioning? It was beyond her.

Sometimes she thought these two massive men were idiots, but really, she'd grown used to their company. They weren't so bad as far as humans went. There'd been worse ones. Far worse.

Dean took a longer shower than Sam, and Anael pointedly ignored his breathing during that time, which had become quickened and shallow. She figured she knew what he was doing; he was only human after all. She was actually surprised it was something Jack hadn't done. Well, he'd always had someone there when the need had arose, so the concept of pleasuring himself alone was still foreign to him.

Sam asked Anael about her time in Heaven once again, focusing less on Jack, but more on how Heaven worked, though she could tell he was thinking of the boy. The prickly scent of frustration was all over him, and with it the sickening tinge of morbid curiosity. Anael indulged him as she rubbed her stomach.

Eventually both hunters went to sleep, and she was left alone in the motel room, watching Dean get into weird positions in his sleep and snore, watching Sam toss and turn and sweat.

Humanity was awkward, and uncomfortable, gross, even. Well, Anael had made a living touching what humanity considered the grossest of their kind day in and day out, so she didn't really consider them that disgusting. She was saddened by them. How could their own kind not look after each other? They were so broken, so divided, so flawed.

It was odd to think that she was bringing a child into such a world.

It was odd to think about how the child had even been created, in a less than human way. Not through sex, but through artificial insemination.

But they would come into the world in a very human way. In pain and blood, from her. Not for the first time Anael felt afraid. It was then that she felt something gently press at her consciousness, much in the same way as when she'd gotten free of her handcuffs.

Anael responded to the little bit of presence, _Hello?_

A word didn't respond, but there was a warm feeling, safety.

Amazed, she held her stomach. She had been in awe earlier feeling the kick against Dean's gun, and then feeling something that was not her power flow through her to break the chains, but she was still insistent on their plan. The plan that they might very well have to follow through with, where her child ended up dead.

Life was in her, life that was not her own. Could she really take it?

But Anael didn't want a child. And she had _taken_ from Jack. He didn't even know he was a father, couldn't even understand any of this. Yet here his baby was, in her, feeling safe, growing, and reaching out to her to say hello.

 _Hi, little one. Mommy's here._

She rubbed her hand in a circle, hoping her baby felt it and found it soothing. Her vision blurred, and she sniffled.

She had an image of her baby in her head, and she knew it was real. Alien, so alien, but alive, and then a fact became known to her, and she found herself smiling in the dark, a tear trailing down her cheek.

 _Mommy's here, baby girl._

She quested out with her Grace to see how she was doing, if she was alright, and her little girl responded back, and Anael closed her eyes, sitting there, silently crying, their Grace intertwined, mother and daughter. And her daughter was doing just fine.

Then something happened that Anael had been trying to keep from happening, and really, it made her cry more because her daughter was so thoughtful, and she felt her worry through her Grace, but she was panicking, even as she lifted up her shirt to see the truth: her tattoo was healing.

 _No, no!_ she thought at her daughter.

But her baby couldn't understand anything so complicated as a tattoo to hide her from the angels, or even understand the concept of hiding, or needing to hide. All she knew was safety. And tomorrow, she was going to betray that safety. If they even made it to tomorrow.

Anael was no longer connected to angel radio, wasn't even connected to Castiel, but she had a feeling it was now singing with activity.

They knew where she was.

She heaved herself off of the couch, and quickly decided to wake Sam up - Dean had his hand under his pillow, and she had a feeling his fingers had found their way around his pistol, so she figured waking him would be akin to playing with fire. Getting to Sam's bed quickly was a challenge because she was past the days where she had been able to run, so now it was more like an awkward waddle that might make most women worry about her ankles. Thankfully, she wasn't human and her ankles were fine.

Anael didn't bother being gentle and smacked his cheek. "Sam, get up."

He was up and on all fours in less than a second, head tilting towards her. His position was yet another testament to the awkwardness of humanity, but Anael didn't have time to be intrigued by it.

He shook his hair out, and shifted till he was sitting, legs right up against hers.

"Anael? What… What is it?"

She switched his lamp on, which made Dean groan and roll over, which thankfully stopped his awful snoring, and then she lifted up her shirt to show him where her tattoo had been.

His eyes widened.

"Anael, what did you do?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"I… I didn't…"

"Dean, get up!" Sam cried, and without looking, grabbed his pillow, and tossed it at his brother.

Dean rolled right out of his bed, and there were a few thuds as he fell and then his gun went with him. A very upset groan followed.

"What?" he all but screeched at them. He had just clambered up, was on his knees, arms up on the bed, hair mussed, an angry glint in his tired eyes.

"Anael's warding is gone," Sam answered.

Apparently that was all Dean needed because in one clean move he threw himself over the bed, arms supporting his weight as his legs went over the mattress, and then he was leaping over Sam's, shoving his brother aside, so that he fell, and before Anael could react he had her pinned against the wall.

The jostling seemed to panic her baby, so Anael's first concern was making sure her daughter didn't hurt anyone. Dean had a hand at her collarbone, another one at her shoulder, and he was right up against her. Anael did her best to send soothing thoughts to her child, but she was also panicking. The angels were going to find her and take her back.

"Whoa, whoa!" Sam cried, now upright, and on his feet. He tugged at Dean's shoulder, who was glaring, nostrils flared.

"I knew you were just leading us on! I fucking knew it!"

"Dean, I didn't do _anything_!" she said to him.

"Yeah, then show me."

For some reason she really didn't want to, even though she'd already shown Sam.

Anael gripped the bottom of her shirt tightly, and then Dean started trying to lift it up.

"Show me!"

"Stop it!" she cried.

She could make him stop, but she didn't want to hurt him. He needed to be at his best to save Jack, so she couldn't risk using her Grace.

Anael contemplated kissing him again to distract him, but she wasn't sure that would work a second time.

"Get off me!"

She shoved him away, and Sam had his arm around him, holding him back. Dean just muttered some swear and pushed Sam aside.

"Why is the tattoo gone?" he asked.

"The baby did it," the answered honestly.

"The baby did it?" Dean repeated slowly, a question in his voice. "Do I look like an idiot to you?"

Anael squinted her eyes at him at that question, and he sighed.

"Anael, did the baby really do it?" Sam asked.

"She broke me out of the handcuffs earlier, and she did this too," Anael said. "I felt her."

"She? Her?" Dean questioned.

Anael nodded.

"You're sure?" Sam asked.

"Yes, I'm sure."

She put a hand on her stomach again, and looked down. "She… She reached out to me."

Sam swallowed roughly, and then nodded. "Okay. Okay, let's work with that. Um… What can she do? Can-can she do anything special? Like, hide us from the angels? Pyrokinesis?"

"Pyrokinesis?" Dean repeated in alarmed confusion.

"You know," Sam responded, now turning to his brother, "how Jack killed Dagon while he was inside of Kelly."

"Boys," Anael began, "she's just a baby. All she really knows are basic things like safety and danger. And for the record, Dean, I'd be a little more careful about putting your hands on me. She doesn't like getting jostled."

Dean's face went pale, and he took a step back. He nodded, now looking at the floor.

"Understood, ma'am."

Anael didn't know where the "ma'am" came from, but she wasn't going to argue against subordination.

"So what do we do?" she asked them, not completely wanting to defer to them, but it had become her nature while chained to them. Besides, it was their son they were rescuing. She just so happened to be their bargaining piece.

Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder as he said, "Come on, let's pack up. We gotta ditch this place as fast as we can. We're only ten minutes from the hospital, so that means we have less than ten from when the tattoo vanished. Anael, how long we have?"

She easily did the calculations and answered, "Five minutes and twenty-three seconds."

"Fuck," Sam muttered, just as his brother did, and then the lights were on and they were rushing about to pack.

Anael did what she could to help, which seemed to bother them a bit, but she didn't get in their way since she knew where all their stuff went - it wasn't that difficult to figure it out, humans pretty much did the same things over and over again and always put things in the same places.

She was crouched down by one of Sam's bags, rolling up shirts he tossed to her when she heard a car start pulling up.

"Anael, time?" Dean asked, voice a harsh whisper.

"Two minutes, three seconds."

"Screw it," Sam said, hurrying about the room to turn the lights off and then grabbing his gun.

The car pulled to a stop, headlights glaring in through the windows and they all ducked, Anael nearly pressing herself against the floor at Dean's insistence. Sam checked the magazine on the pistol, and just as he was about to thumb back the safety Dean tossed him an angel blade; he had one out as well.

The car door opened, and an angel stepped out.

Even through the wall and the door his Grace was unmistakable, and Anael's lip curled in a snarl as she shuffled back: Cael.

The younger Winchester finished, "Zero seconds."

* * *

Maybe it was all the crying that had sped up the process, but come nighttime, Jack's mouth was dry, and he desperately wanted at least one sip of water.

Angels had come down the stairs to talk to Duma and Castiel had thrown some of the rubble. It wasn't to do damage, but to serve as a warning. Jack thought it might've worked because after conversing with her for a bit they went back up the stairs.

He heard the ringing again. It was very loud now, and he was holding his head in his hands, rocking back and forth. Nathaniel, much to Castiel's dismay, was rubbing his bare back. Jack enjoyed the feeling very much, especially when his touch lightened, and then lightened even more, skin just barely brushing against him, fingertips teasing along him, making pleasure infuse itself into his spine.

Unable to help himself he arched away from it and let out a moan, but Nathaniel kept doing it. Jack curled his toes, squeezed his eyes shut. There was pressure in his pelvis.

"Stop that," Castiel told the other angel.

No, no! Jack didn't want it to stop.

Nathaniel's hand drifted away, and he whimpered before reaching out and snatching his hand back, placing it on him, making him grip him. The angel wasn't looking at him, was instead looking at his father. Jack could smell the tension from both of them, and he just wanted it to go away. Why couldn't his father let him have this one thing?

Sure, Nathaniel had taken him away, but he wasn't all bad. He made Jack feel nice. Really nice. Jack squeezed Nathaniel's hand, his nice, long fingers tightening around him, making him shiver.

"Castiel," Duma began, "I know you want Jack taken care of. Just let him be."

His father whirled on her, and Jack found himself shifting towards Nathaniel, hips arching up, but he lifted up his head to watch.

Nathaniel moved his hand away and pat his thigh, and it wasn't long before Jack was aching.

"No. You think I'm going to allow any of you to defile him any more than you already have? If I let Jack be _touched_ by Nathaniel _right here_ then I've lost. There will be no point in me continuing to stand guard over him, to keep him from you, from all of you. I'm his _father_. It's my _job_."

"Cas, he's not hurting me!" Jack argued, voice rough like it got when he was ready for playtime.

His father hissed in a breath, turning to him. "We've been over this, Jack. It's not good. It's not right."

"Why?"

His father glanced at Duma and then went over to Jack. Jack tried to look Castiel in the eye but couldn't do it, and he couldn't really decide where to look. He ended up fidgeting where he sat, and Castiel took his hands in his, and he had him move closer to him, away from Nathaniel's warmth. That made the ache start to go away, and that brought him some relief.

"Jack, look at me."

Jack looked at his nose.

"No, not at my nose," he insisted. "Look at me."

Vision blurring for some reason that he couldn't fathom, stomach clenching, he met his father's blue, blue eyes.

They were sad, so very sad, and he wanted to tell him he was sorry, so he opened his mouth, but he couldn't get the words out.

"Yes, it feels good," he affirmed. "It does. I understand that. But these things are more complicated than you know. I don't want to have to explain it all to you right here and now, where I can't properly take care of you, where you're not safe. But I will get you out, and Sam, Dean, and I, we're going to take care of you. We'll explain _everything_. It's going to be very confusing, and very scary. Maybe even a little gross. But you have to remember, you've already survived everything. You understand?"

Jack didn't know what Castiel was talking about, was actually terrified about what things they would tell him, but he nodded anyway.

"So while we're in this situation, I need you to listen to me. You can't touch Nathaniel or the other angels, and they can't touch you."

"But you're touching me," Jack reasoned.

"Yes, Jack. I am. But I have no intention to harm you. _They do._ Can you understand that? I'm not trying to frighten you, just trying to keep you safe, but what Nathaniel does to you, makes him a very bad person."

"But I like him."

Castiel gave him a sad, defeated smile.

"Sometimes we like bad people, but it doesn't make them good."

Jack wondered why Nathaniel stayed quiet through all of this, why the heavy stench of guilt wafted from him. Perhaps Castiel was right. But he couldn't make sense of it.

"And I know you're confused, Jack. I know you're hurt, and that you've seen a lot of bad. There's bad in this universe, and I'm so sorry I couldn't keep you from it. _But_ there's good too. You have to remember that. And sometimes people are mix of good and bad, and maybe… maybe the angels are, but that doesn't excuse what they've done to you."

"He's right," Nathaniel eventually chimed in, voice hoarse with emotion. "Jack, I'm sorry. I… I never should've touched you."

Jack wanted to go to him, fall in his arms, and cry, but Castiel still held his hands. The two sides within him warred till he felt like he ripped in two, and then he became utterly nothing. A tear fell, and emptiness took him. Jack pulled out of Castiel's grasp, and turned to face Duma once more. And he was back to wanting water.

* * *

"Can you use your Grace to take out the wall of the room next to us?" Dean asked Anael.

"Yeah, of course."

Cael was approaching the door now. When he discovered the knob was locked he simply broke the knob off completely and then kicked the door open. Dean tapped Anael, and she stood, and threw her arms out to drill at the wall with her Grace. The wall crashed in immediately, waking the middle-aged couple in the room next door. Plaster and dust fell from the wall and ceiling and Dean held his arm up to shield his eyes.

The couple were screaming and scrambling to get out of their bed, phones out, probably to call the police. Anael used her Grace to destroy their phones, knowing getting police involved could take this mess to a whole new level.

She was in the next room now, Sam following behind her, bags over his arm, weapons still drawn.

Dean wasn't following them.

"Well, well, well," she heard Dean say, "if it isn't Kale Salad. So, decided to take a break from being a pedophile to hunt down a pregnant lady? Awesome. I can dig it."

"Go. Go," Sam urged, as Anael felt Cael's presence draw closer.

"What is he doing?" she asked once they were outside and going over to the Impala as quickly as possible.

The couple from the motel room were rushing to their car, and seemed to be doing the smart thing and getting away as quickly as possible - something they weren't doing.

"Stalling."

After taking care of the bags, Sam got into the driver's seat, carefully keeping his weapons in the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

Anael got in the car, but could still hear Dean and what was going on inside the motel room.

Cael wasn't amused with Dean and after his gun had fired off he'd been slammed against the wall, angel blade clattering to the floor. Anael wanted to rush in to help him, but Sam grabbed her wrist. She could fight him off, but she looked into his face. His jaw was clenched, adam's apple bobbing up and down, eyes slightly wider than usual, and filled with worry. He knew what this decision meant.

"He could kill him," she hissed.

"He won't. Not as long as I have you."

Anael lowered her arm, knowing he was right, but Sam still held on.

Cael was suddenly hauling Dean out of the door, and then Sam seemed to brace himself and turned the car on. The angel tossed the hunter down in the gravel so hard that he slid and blood was drawn, clearly seen from the headlights. Before Dean could rise, Cael went over to him and was lifting him up.

Dean looked to Sam, and Anael could hear Sam's heart beating so quickly she thought it might burst.

Cael put a blade to Dean's neck.

"Out of the car!" he shouted. "Nice and slow."

Sam began to listen to him, but Anael decided she was staying put. Sure, she'd been with the Winchesters a few weeks, but things had all gone sideways, and her loyalty was to herself, and now to her daughter, whose consciousness she still felt, almost more clearly than she knew herself. But still, she owed Jack.

Through the windows of the Impala, Anael could see Sam standing there in the cold night in his pajamas, breath misting in the air, hands up by his head.

"Just take it easy," he told Cael. "No one has to get hurt."

It was amazing that Sam could sound so calm when each muscle was clearly pulled taut with rage at whatever role Cael had had to play in Jack's captivity.

"Then get Anael out of the car."

Anael thought of getting into the driver's seat and making her getaway, but they'd never get Jack back that way. Still, she stayed put.

Sam, keeping his hands up where Cael could see them, went around the other side of the vehicle and opened the door. There was something in his eyes that seemed like he was pleading, so when he made a spectacle of getting her out of the Impala, she played along, and spat venom at him.

"You get your brother back if I get her."

"Hardly seems fair," Sam said. "That's like a two for one deal. I'm gonna need something else before I hand her over."

"You're in no place to make demands, boy. One flick of my wrist, and your brother's throat will be sliced clean through. I'm sure he'll look very pretty like that."

Before Anael could really register what was happening she was pulled tight against Sam's body, and the unmistakable tip of an angel blade was pressed against her swollen belly. Cael was an idiot for not having made Sam divest himself of weapons.

And Sam was an idiot for not accounting for all of them.

Anael let the blade cut into her, but just barely, as she reached behind him, hand under his shirt, and grabbed his pistol. She'd never used a gun before, but she remembered seeing how Dean had held it to her stomach, to where her baby girl was.

She was too short to reach Sam's head, so she pressed it against his neck, metal flush against his wildly thrumming pulse point. Still, the blade, now dripping blood, was at her stomach.

Cael, still standing there with Dean on his knees before him, started laughing.


	19. The Road Goes Ever On and On

Dean wished that his position with Sam were reversed. He had been the one mentally preparing himself all these hours to drive the blade home, not Sam. He saw the lack of conviction in the way he held the hilt of the angel blade, fingers spread too far apart, and he saw Anael's lack of conviction in her grip on Sam's pistol; her hand was shaking. Cael would be able to see this and take it all in. And Cael, well, Cael meant it. His fingers were close together on the hilt of the blade, silver sharp right against Dean's throat, making it so he could barely swallow. Spit was building up in his mouth, which was open in fright, so now it was dribbling down to his chin, mixing with the blood and gravel on his face.

"Anael, don't be foolish," Cael told her once he finished laughing. His grip on Dean's head tightened, and the blade nicked him, making him wince. "Be a good girl, and put the gun down. The men are busy."

"Sam, let me go," she commanded.

Now was when Dean would've driven the blade into her, maybe an inch, just to show that he was serious. He'd regret it, but it was what he'd made himself ready to do. And he thought Anael had been prepared as well. What the hell was she doing?

 _Come on, Sammy. Come on._

One wrong move, and this could all end with both he and Sam dead, and Anael re-captured, and Jack lost forever.

"You don't have to do this," he said to her. "Put the gun down."

She licked her lips and thumbed back the safety.

 _Son of a bitch._

Dean was going to risk saying something, but then there was a blur of motion. The blade was away from his throat. Immense pressure was against and in his right shoulder, so startling that he opened his mouth wide to scream, but no sound came out. One second it wasn't there, and then the next it was all he knew, just that pressure, as if it was crushing him, driving right through him, and destroying him on the way: in his right shoulder, out through his shoulder blade, damaging muscle, bone, and tissue.

In another second pain flared to life in him, sharp and sore and hot, and coming in brutal, blinding waves.

There was a glint of silver, the hilt of the angel blade sticking out of his shoulder, and he would've fallen to the ground except for Cael's grip on him. A shudder ran through him, and he began to sweat, an inhuman growling noise coming from his throat. Cael withdrew the blade from where he'd stabbed him and pat the profusely bleeding wound, making him cry out.

"Hush."

Now he addressed Sam and Anael, and Dean kept thinking that the gravel looked like a very nice place to lay down: "As you can see, unlike you two, I'm not playing games. Hand her over, Sam."

"D-Dean," he choked out.

"You'll get your brother back, just slightly worse for wear."

Dean forced himself to look at Sam's face.

"Sammy," he mumbled.

He wanted to tell him no, to try and stick with the plan, to maybe get Anael out of there an leave him. They had to get Jack and Castiel. He didn't matter.

His brother's face was pale, eyes wide, and his grip on Anael had weakened. Anael had completely lowered the gun, though she had neglected to switch the safety back on. Sam's hand was slowly moving over her, closer to the gun, and she didn't even seem to notice. As he did that, he pressed the blade against her stomach with more purpose, keeping both her and Cael focused on that.

 _Good,_ Dean thought. _Good, come on. You got this._ Though, at this point, he wasn't entirely sure he knew what Sam was doing. He was in too much pain to even really know what was going on.

"We want Jack," Sam told him.

"You won't get him."

Sam screamed at the angel, a wordless roar of seething rage, and Anael started. Sam grabbed the gun from her at that point, and then Dean saw determination in his brother's eyes.

Dean forced himself to the ground, screaming as he landed on his bad shoulder, which somehow seemed to be bleeding even more heavily than a few seconds ago, the front and back of his shirt already half-soaked through with blood.

There was an ear-shattering _BANG_ as Sam's gun fired off, and Cael faltered back. Dean started dragging himself across the ground, unable to get back to his feet, vision blurry, feeling dizzy from blood loss, and shuddering from pain and cold.

The gunshot wouldn't kill Cael, but it was hopefully enough to distract him.

More shots were fired, one after the other.

 _BLAM! BLAM!_

Three rounds, four left.

 _Save your ammo, Sammy._

A few things then happened in quick succession. Anael broke free of Sam and rushed to the Impala, now with his angel blade, since he was so focused on firing. Cael, riddled with bullets, threw his angel blade, and it arced through the air, end over end, and Sam almost completely bent himself in half backwards to dodge it as he ran and slid forward on his knees to grab Dean.

Sam fired one more time at close range, setting Dean's ears ringing, and then Sam was grabbing him, lifting him up, and helping him away from the enraged and wounded angel, and then there was the immense struggle of putting one foot in front of the other as he did his best to get into the back of the Impala. He collapsed in the back seat, where Anael already was, and his head was in her lap, right near her swollen belly. Blood from her wound dripped onto his forehead and into his hair, making what he'd been planning to do very real. Her hands were on him, her eyes glowing a brilliant blue that blinded him, as Sam got into the driver's seat. And then they shot out of the parking lot.

"Sammy, not a scratch on her!" he yelled at his brother, as he felt the wound in his shoulder start to heal, and he was jostled in the back seat.

"Shut up, jerk!"

"Bitch!"

He was jostled again, and he cried out, and Anael pressed down on the wound harder, maybe to make the healing work faster, and he cried out.

"You alright?" Sam called.

"Nothing like getting to wake me up."

"Yeah, you're alright," he muttered.

"If anything, he could've gotten a little more momentum on the swing," Dean critiqued.

The pain in his shoulder blessedly receded, and he carefully sat up. He looked around, taking in what was going on. Sam was driving way above the speed limit, road blazing away beneath them, and so was the car behind them, a silver Honda Accord. Cael was at the driver's seat, blood trailing down his nose from a bullet hole almost right between the eyes that was rapidly healing.

"Hey, nice shot, Sam!" Dean commented.

"Not now, Dean," Sam got out. "Trying to concentrate here."

Dean leaned forward and pat Sam on the shoulder. "Ah, don't worry. That piece of crap's got nothin' on Baby."

Dean almost fell forward, vision suddenly failing, and he looked back at Anael questioningly, feeling like everything in him fell down to his feet as he did so.

"Can't heal the blood loss," she answered.

 _Fuck._

"It's fine," he lied.

The road was mostly empty since it was the middle of the night. A car passed them, and beeped their horn at them. Sam made a series of right turns, and then a left, and then Dean unceremoniously crammed himself into the passenger's seat.

"Okay, left here," Dean advised Sam when they were at a four-way intersection.

They cut off a car that was nearly in the middle of the intersection, inches away from crashing into it, and Dean, nearly feeling high from being newly healed and now with the purr of the engine in his ears so soon after the sound of bullets flying, he threw up his middle finger and shouted. In the rearview mirror he saw Anael shake her head.

The front of Cael's vehicle clipped the rear of the one they just passed, slowing him down, and now Dean actually did feel guilty about flipping them off. They didn't deserve to get caught up in all this.

After giving Sam a few more instructions, and swerving around 18-wheelers that ended up serving as obstacles for Cael, Dean had no idea where they were going. He didn't even know where they were supposed to be heading, other than away. They ended up on the highway, which carved through a forest of fir, pine, and larch, and then the trees fell away on the left, making way for wide open fields that spread out till the great darkness of mountains blocked his view. The road was empty at this hour, and Sam stepped on the gas. It was a straight road, and Dean kept his eyes peeled for any turn offs, especially to the right, that Cael might not be looking for. But it seemed like nothing but the wilderness and open sky, the stars bursting with trails of color.

There was a sharp relief of objects in the distance, where it looked like the mountains closed in on the road, and through the sliver of night, Dean could just make it out. Looked like it could be a toll booth. That wouldn't be good.

The angel was a half-mile down the road, and with no vehicles in between them to act as roadblocks, he was closing in.

"Faster, Sam, come on," Dean urged.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm trying."

Dean turned back to check on Cael. He was getting too close. Dean grabbed Sam's gun from his waistband, and then climbed into the backseat again. Anael, holding her belly, eyes wide, made space for him.

He rolled down the window, the wind stinging his eyes, but feeling wonderfully fresh on his face. He stuck as much of himself out the window as he could, and he aimed carefully in the dark while turning the safety off, knowing there were only three rounds left.

They cleared a mile of road beneath them before Dean fired off a shot, and Cael swerved, and the bullet missed. Maybe most people would aim for the driver, but he knew that was hopeless in this situation.

"Anael, Sam! See if there are any places to turn off! We gotta shake him!"

"There's nothing!" Sam informed him.

Two bullets, and Cael's wheels were starting to look very strange in Dean's eyes because he was focusing on them too much. He felt faint and blinked hard, trying to focus. There was a residual ache in his shoulder, and it spasmed down into his fingers. He quickly got all of himself back inside the car, and he flicked the safety on the gun, having the barrel point at the floor in between his feet.

"Dean, you good?" Sam asked.

"Light-headed."

Dean took in a few deep breaths, checked ahead, saw that he was right that a toll booth was a few miles ahead, and only getting closer, and the woods on the right were growing sparse, turning into a field, which became the sandy and rocky shores of a river that ran alongside the road.

He steeled himself, and stuck his head back out the window.

This next shot hit the bumper, and Cael was able to keep driving.

"Brace yourselves!" Sam cried.

Anael grabbed Dean, just as he pulled himself back into the car. There was a bunch of shouting, and then an impossibly loud series of cracks as they rammed right through the toll booth. Cael was right behind them, almost flattening the poor guy who ran out in the middle of the road to yell at them.

The road began to twist after that, the mountainous terrain taking over. Dean was regretting having Sam turn out of town. Mountain roads could get scary as hell, and lots of accidents could happen. But that meant they could happen to Cael too.

The road started becoming steep, going up, and up, and Dean held onto the seat in front of him, not risking sticking himself out the window. There were walls of craggy rock on either side of them, and Dean wasn't about to get caught just because he was trying to blow a hole in somebody else's tire.

Sam slowed down as the road continued to climb and twist, but Cael, not having to worry about death by car accident, didn't.

"Shit, he's gaining on us," Dean told him.

"Love your backseat driving," Sam commented, clearly irritated.

"Let me see if I can do something," Anael said.

With difficulty, she got an arm and her head out the window, and there was a brilliant burst of light, Cael's car swerved, drove right against the rock for a few seconds, eliciting ear-splitting screeches and sparks. He righted the vehicle, Dean saw him throw his hand out, and instinctively Dean ducked his head.

"Sam, incoming!"

It was like the Impala was shoved from behind, and right on a turn. Sam blessedly reacted without thinking and turned the wheel far to the right, the tires squealing, marking the road in black. There was a pause as physics took over for a second, and then they were off again. Anael shot another wave of force at Cael again, but he blocked it with his own Grace, and an explosion went off in between them that pushed both cars farther away from each other.

Dean was sweating profusely, and it seemed like they were on that mountain forever, but then the road eventually started going down, and there was a sheer drop to their right, thanks to the river they'd seen earlier. The Impala was careening around the corners at a speed that was deadly if Sam made the wrong move. A trucker flashed their lights and honked his horn at them, and then they heard as Cael was given the same treatment, but luckily it didn't cause a problem.

The markers for the headlights to reflect off of grew farther and farther apart, until they stopped coming altogether, and Sam had to slow down. Dean bumped his head on the headliner when the Impala jolted down, and then up in the back right, and his stomach lurched up into his throat.

Dean knew he didn't have to tell Sam to be careful, and they had just come really close to falling off the edge. It was beyond him why there weren't fences on roads like these; maybe it was too hard to get workers up here.

They were blessedly off the mountain, back in the fields, and Cael followed closely behind.

"I don't get why he hasn't just flipped us over yet," Dean said.

"He's worried about the baby," Anael answered. "She's part human, so he's not sure how much she can take."

Dean chanced leaning out the window again, the sweet scent of grass thick in his nose, but then he was soon bombarded with the heavy stench of manure as they came upon a farm.

 _Come on, come on, come on,_ he told himself. _Breathe. You got this. One shot. Just one shot._

Cael was a quarter of a mile behind them now.

Dean felt the wonderful kick of the gun in his hand as he pulled the trigger.

" _Woo!_ " he shouted, voice being lost to the wind, as Cael's front left tire suddenly gave out.

The car veered to the left, and then, the back wheels kept going, along with the front right one, and the back of the vehicle lifted into the air before the top of the car completely smashed down onto the tarmac. They'd been going near one-hundred miles per hour once they got off the mountain, and Cael somewhere under that, so his car flipped and flipped, metal screeching and crushing and tearing, till everything was twisted and misshapen, glass shattering, sounding like a million bass drums being pounded, thunder ripping across the calm sky. It was too silent once the car skidded to a halt, but soon that area would be loud with the crack of flames; he could see a tongue of orange in the dark night.

Dean was laughing from his high when he was sitting in his seat again, and he had the safety back on on the gun.

"Got him!" Dean announced as he rolled up the window.

Sam cheered, and Anael kissed his cheek. Dean gave her a surprised look at that, and maybe a human woman would've blushed, but she just gave him a very purposeful look, and he swallowed roughly.

"Great job, Sammy," he told his brother, patting him on the shoulder.

"So we got rid of… What did you call him?" Sam asked, slowing down. "Kale Salad?"

Anael laughed, and Dean got himself into the passenger's seat again, being careful with his feet, not wanting to accidently kick the pregnant angel and ruin their bargaining piece.

"Yeah. Cael. Kale. Same thing, right?"

"So now what?"

Dean looked at his brother, who was absolutely coated in sweat, and it was dripping off his face, and then back at Anael.

"What was that?" he asked. "Back at the motel? You pulled a gun on my brother."

"He was gonna hurt my baby."

"No, he wasn't. Even Cael could see that. That wasn't the plan. Sam tell her."

Sam sighed. "Anael, I wasn't going to do it."

"Besides, I thought you wanted to get rid of… her."

"I… I did."

"And?"

Anael looked out the window.

"Look," she started, "I'm sorry about Jack-"

"Tell that to Jack," Sam interrupted.

"I will," she got out. "I… I'm sorry, okay? I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this. But her? She's… She didn't do anything. Why should she have to pay for my mistakes?"

"She's just a fetus," Dean reasoned.

It's what he'd been telling himself for hours, it's what he'd gone to bed with in case he'd have to plunge a blade into Anael, knowing full well what he was doing.

"I know," Anael agreed, surprising him. "But she's potential."

"Everything is potential," Sam told her. "Every decision, every action, everything we do, or don't do. We just have to choose which ones are important to us."

"And this is important to me," she admitted.

"Okay," Sam relented. "Okay."

"That's it?" Dean asked. "What if the gun misfired? You'd be _dead_."

Sam shrugged. "It didn't."

"How are you seriously okay with this?"

"Dude, I'm not. And neither are you. You got stabbed for crying out loud. Just sit down, relax. We're gonna figure this out."

Dean sank down in his seat, and ran a hand over his face.

"Anael, do you still want to save Jack?" Sam asked, voice hard.

"Yes."

"What are you willing to do?"

There was a long pause in the backseat, silence, and it gave Dean time to focus on how _awful_ the car smelled - a mix of Sam's sweat, his sweat, and his blood - and he picked at his ruined Henley. That sucked, it was his favorite one.

"We'll go to the gate," she said. "Dean," she began, forcing his name out, "you… you can hurt me. Only me. Not my baby. We get the angels to meet with us."

"And then we improvise?" Sam asked, not sounding too hopeful.

"Guess so," Anael finished.

"Great," Dean said, thinking of how that hadn't gone over well at the motel. "Yeah, great. We're so gonna win."

* * *

Jack got sick of sitting around, and though it'd been awhile since he'd slept, he wasn't going to lie down and go to sleep. Even with Castiel watching over him, he feared that he'd wake up in the Room.

So he stood up, determined, and walked past Castiel, even when he reached out for him and was calling his name. His eyes were set on Duma.

"Jack, I suppose you're ready to come and get some rest," she said.

Jack didn't think on her words, had barely heard her, and simply pushed against her chest. The golden light of his powers emanated from his hand in a violent wave, and she crashed against the stairs, chest caving in, blood gushing from her ears, eyes, mouth, and nose. She would live. Jack wanted to kill her, but they were right when they said Heaven was in danger. Killing an angel like his father had done was dangerous.

"Come on!" he told Castiel and Nathaniel.

"Jack, the gate won't be open," Cas reasoned.

Jack didn't care. He was sick of the prison. He just… He needed to get away. Yes, that was what he needed. Away.

Duma was moaning where she lay against the cracked marble stairs, and Jack tilted his head up them. His head began to ring, and then it felt like his skull had been cracked in two, and he fell to his knees, hands over his ears, as he cried out.

His father rushed over to him in a second, and then Nathaniel was on the other side of him. They were hoisting him up, and then getting him up the stairs.

"Jack, is it the other angels?" Castiel asked.

He could scarcely make out their voices, but he knew one thing. They were coming.

His pulse started beating so rapidly he nearly felt like he was going to choke on it, and with the pain in his head it became so difficult to breathe. It was blinding, and he stumbled along, his father and his playmate helping him through the halls.

Jack collapsed, and he panted out, "They're coming."

"How many?" Castiel asked. "Jack, how many?"

"I - _ah!_ \- I don't know!"

"Nathaniel, watch him," Castiel ordered, and then Jack saw him retreating back down the stairs. Jack slumped to the floor as he reached out for him. The ringing blessedly stopped and Nathaniel got his hands under his armpits to help him to his feet again.

Castiel was back up the stairs in a matter of moments, now holding an angel blade, and Jack guessed he'd gotten his back from Duma.

"What about mine?" Nathaniel asked, as Castiel started walking again, taking Jack's arm, and leading him.

"I don't trust you," his father growled out.

It was still impossible for Jack to understand why two of his favorite people were at odds with each other, but now wasn't the time to disagree. Castiel took him through halls he'd never been in before, and soon they were in the Garden. Jack looked around, confused. He had thought there was only one entrance to the Garden.

They were near a spring with gray stone steps that led down to it, and winded away off to their left. Springy grass dotted with flowers of purple, pink, and blue were before them, and they were surrounded by trees that Jack thought maybe he could climb. Was that what they were going to do?

"Castiel, where are we going?" Nathaniel asked.

"I can't tell you," he informed him. "You're connected to angel radio. For all I know, you could be telling them where we are."

"Why would I do that?"

They'd been walking through the grass, but then Jack stopped short because Castiel had thrown himself at Nathaniel, and his forearm was pressed right up against his throat, Nathaniel's back to a tree.

"Because if you give the angels what they want - _my son_ \- _you get to have him_."

"C-Castiel," Nathaniel forced out, "they're _killing him_. I know it. I don't… I don't want that for him. I don't. I'm telling you _I don't_.

Jack ran over to try and pry his father's arm off of Nathaniel, and Castiel said, "Jack, stay out of this."

"Cas, I'll tell you what they're doing to him in that room. I'll… I'll tell you. It was my fault. It was my idea. It's the reason he's wasting away, the reason he won't eat, the reason he can't sleep. I did this to him. I admit it. Please, just _please_ let me help him. I have to help him. I want to help him. He's such an amazing boy, so… so perfect, and-"

"You don't get to talk about him!" Castiel roared.

Jack tugged at Castiel again, but this time because he wanted to get going. The skin on his back was crawling, like he had to go, he had to run. The angels were going to get him.

None of this mattered. They could talk about it after. And why did it matter what happened in the Room. Jack didn't want to talk about the Room. His mouth made too much saliva thinking of it.

"Just let me go, and I'll tell you everything."

Castiel seemed to consider it for a moment, and he turned to look at Jack. Then he closed his eyes and sighed heavily as if he was about to do something he'd sorely regret. Castiel put a hand to Nathaniel's forehead, and Nathaniel's mouth opened in a scream, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Castiel's eyes also rolled back in his head as well, lids fluttering closed, and then in a few seconds he was falling back away from the other angel, face awash in pain and disgust, tears building up in his eyes.

" _How could you?_ "

"I'm… I'm sorry," Nathaniel gasped, hand at his throat, tears streaking his face and upsetting Jack. "I'm so sorry."

An inhuman roar left his father, and Jack just knew he was going to stab his friend. He didn't know how he knew it, but the look on Castiel's face said everything. In that moment he did the only thing he could think of and threw himself in front of him, screaming wordlessly.

" _Jack_ ," his father breathed, visibly shaking, " _step aside_."

"He wants to help me."

" _He's hurt you._ " He took in a deep breath through his nose, and then breathed out through his mouth, baring his teeth. "This is for the best."

"If you kill him I won't go," Jack said.

" _Jack_."

"Dad!"

And so they stood there, tears collecting in their eyes, and then Castiel's spilled free. His blade fell from his hand, and he ran to Jack, taking him in his arms as he fell to his knees, pulling him down with him.

"Jack, I'm so sorry," he told him. "I'm so sorry. Never again. Never again. I won't let them. _I won't let them._ "

"We have to go," Jack told him, voice hoarse.

"Yes, you're right," Castiel agreed.

He stood, taking Jack's hand, and he led him away from Nathaniel once he'd retrieved his blade.

"You stay away from my boy," he told him.

Jack looked back at him, the angel who had bathed him, the angel who had offered him his flower crown when he'd broken his, the angel who he loved to play with, the angel who he thought was one of the good guys, and he waved. Nathaniel waved back, giving him a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"So where are we going?" Jack asked him as his father took him into the trees and Nathaniel's form disappeared from view.

"The Axis Mundi."


	20. I'd Fly Up the River to the One I Love

**WARNING: Mention of past suicide attempt, and past self harm.**

* * *

Castiel felt Jack's hand in his, warm, and real, and alive, and he had to hold on lest the pain in his chest take over. He knew the pain wasn't real, but he felt as if he'd been stabbed.

Scream.

Stab.

Scream.

Stab.

His head was full of Jack's screams. Full of him crying, and pleading, telling them no more.

" _I don't like this game._ "

Those were the words repeated the most. The words that tore at his Grace till he felt like he was barely alive.

They'd told him it was a game.

They'd told his son that defiling him was a game.

"Cas, why did you want to kill Nathaniel?"

Castiel barely heard the question as he walked.

" _I don't like this game!_ "

Stab.

" _Pl-e-ease! Sto-op!_ "

Stab.

"Cas, why?"

Jack tugged on his hand, insistent, and Castiel was drawn back to the here and now. They were in the Garden of Eden, under a natural arch made of the branches of dogwood and cherry trees that were on either side of them, the scent from the white and pink blossoms drifting down to them.

Castiel glanced at his son, wondering if he even remembered the atrocities that had happened to him in that room. When he had a chance, he thought he might have to scour his mind, with his permission of course, and see. It was the only way they could even begin to help him.

"I saw something, Jack," he explained, barely able to get the words out, images of his son's torment filling him up. "In his head. It wasn't good."

"What did you see?"

Jack, restrained, blindfolded. Why had they blindfolded him? Perhaps it had been so he couldn't single them out, couldn't learn to hate any particular angel.

"Not now," he responded, drawing away from the images and back to the trees surrounding them. "Come on, we have to hurry, before the other angels figure out where we're going."

They had to get to the Axis Mundi, and then… Well, Castiel wasn't totally sure he knew where they could hide, but something would come to him. He couldn't let them take Jack back to that room. He'd die before then. He'd take on the remainder of the angels at once if he had to.

Castiel sped up the pace, but didn't break into a jog like he wanted to, knowing that Jack was weakened and wouldn't be able to keep up. He led him through the Garden, and was surprised to see that his eyes were filled with familiarity instead of wonder. Perhaps the angels had taken him here occasionally. The Garden of Eden liked to change how it looked, but to beings of Heaven, it was either the throne room, or its base form as it was now.

The floating incandescent lights in the trees led them on, and Castiel found the door they were looking for. It wasn't a door precisely. It was the roots of a massive and ancient tree, a tree that was even older than himself, and the name had since passed on to be forgotten. The bark was a silvery-white that could possibly hurt human eyes to look at it, and it rose far higher than the redwoods that Castiel so often marveled at in his free time. The roots twisted up above him, arching up from the ground, to make a cave, and the leaves were soft strokes of gold, delicate like flowers in the first days of spring, eager and yearning for their new life.

Now he saw awe in his son's deep brown eyes. And for just a moment, the screams stopped, and the images faded, and Castiel smiled.

Castiel led Jack into the space between the roots, and there was the scent of nature and living things all around them, so fresh and beautiful that it made the betrayal from his brethren strike deeper, plunging into his heart. Then they came out into a forest, a path carved clean through it. It was night, constellations, and a swirling galaxy above them, stars moving impossibly fast and slow all at once, in radiant colors of red, blue, and white, which eventually gave way into remarkable hues of orange, and yellow, like fire in the sky. As they watched parts of that heavenly fire turned pink and purple, lighting up the night with wonder. The sound of rushing water met Castiel's ears, and he knew what they would soon find.

Jack craned his head back, mouth open.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"The Axis Mundi," Castiel told him, as he led him along the dirt path they now found themselves on. "It's the main road that runs through all of Heaven."

"Will the angels find us here?"

"They might catch up eventually, but they seldom travel this path."

"How come?"

"It's difficult. Heaven is made up of so many things, of nearly everything, and the Axis Mundi reflects that."

"So why is it just dirt?"

They came to the edge of the treeline, and there was a river that stretched about ten miles out, the far shore nearly hidden from sight. The water was rushing by with a westward current, brutal yet calm, with nothing in its waters to disturb it. It reflected the beauty of space, starlight glinting on the pearly surface, and the water that lapped at the sand by their feet. And before them was a boat, a simple rowboat of oakwood with two oars. Castiel had worried that they'd find a canoe. But somehow, Heaven must've known that Jack didn't have the strength for paddling.

Jack's question was taken by the breeze as he stared out upon the vast body of water. It was so clean and clear it seemed to be made of the heavens themselves, filled to the brim with celestial light, that shone back at them, like hope in liquid form.

His mouth closed, and Castiel saw his bottom lip trembling. Gold streaked across the sky as green burst in the east, giving way into white that faded to blue, and even more colors that humans couldn't see. It went against what humans called science, but this wasn't science. This was perfection.

"I didn't know it was so beautiful," he said, voice nearly a whimper.

No one had to tell Castiel for him to know his son was crying. He reached over and brushed his tears away. He wanted him to face him, to make sure he was listening, but what Jack was seeing was too important, so he didn't dare divert his attention.

"I know it hurts, but if all falls to darkness in your mind, I want you to at least remember this. Remember this place."

It did hurt knowing that such beauty existed, that such atrocious things could happen in Heaven, a place that was meant to be perfect, that _could_ be perfect, just as it was here. Evil and sin living within beauty and hope and miracles. Castiel looked away from the sky, looked away from the river, and looked at his son. But he didn't look at his thin frame, didn't look at the hurts he saw in his mind. He saw a boy, someone with potential for great evil, and great good, a boy whom he loved, and loved him. A boy that he was trying to save. Maybe for now, that was enough of a miracle.

His son nodded, now looking at him with such big, sad eyes, and then Castiel felt like he was torn in two. The images coming to life in his head once more and the sight of the river before him were so at odds with each other, that he couldn't seem to process it. He put an arm around Jack's shoulders, and led him over to the rowboat.

Thankfully Castiel didn't have to work extra hard with rowing; the current was mercifully swift, and in no time at all they were flying over the water. Jack was laughing, reaching his hand out to let his fingers trail in the water and feel its pleasant coolness. It made Castiel smile. He had thought he'd never see his son laugh, not after what had happened to him. But even after everything, Jack was still a child.

A child who had gone through such horror. But he was alive. And he was going to keep him that way.

There was no way in human time to express how long they traveled the Axis Mundi. Humans didn't actually measure time, as it was. They simply measured astronomical observations. In the Axis Mundi, there were no such observations, and Castiel didn't even have the normal spatial references to do his calculations. They were where time was at its purest form, simply being, a product of the universe.

Sometimes the Axis Mundi liked to be confusing, liked to hide itself within memories, but to Castiel it was pure, a friend, and it stayed as the wide river.

At one point Jack tried drinking the water, but he remained thirsty afterwards. Castiel wasn't sure how to explain it to him. It was water, but it wasn't. It was a simple concept to him, and something he was sure a few physicists in the field of quantum mechanics could understand, but it was much too challenging for a child.

So he gently told him, "Don't worry. I'll take care of you as soon as I can. Promise."

It was during their time on the Axis Mundi that Castiel realized where he could hide Jack, and he felt a warm fluttering in his chest in anticipation. But then he saw Jack's pained eyes once more, and guilt struck him so heavily it flayed him down to the bone, and he wasn't sure how he was going to be able to face her.

* * *

The voices in Jack's head ebbed and flowed, much as the river did, while they were on the Axis Mundi. For some reason, being there seemed to shield him from the angels, and he only felt their words as a dull throb. They seemed far away, and it was just him and his father.

But they were going to catch up eventually.

They were playing a game they were going to lose.

Funny that Jack saw this as a game. It wasn't a very fun one. But the angels weren't very good at playing games. He knew that from the Room, from what he could remember. Well, it was just a feeling he had, not really images or sounds or sensations. Just a feeling. They were only good at one game, and not even all of them were skillful at it. Nathaniel and Anael were the best, his favorites. Even though Jack had been with Nathaniel most recently, he missed him. He missed Anael too, wondered how her baby was doing.

Anael still confused Jack.

Why was she going to have a baby?

How did people even have babies to begin with?

Did they just wish really hard?

But then how did babies have fathers?

And Jack remembered enough to know that Lucifer was really his father, not Castiel. But Lucifer wasn't here, so he meant nothing to him.

"Cas?" Jack began, his voice hoarse from lack of water. His father had been looking upon the river as he rowed, strong shoulders moving the oars, but now he looked at him, and Jack continued, "Where do babies come from?"

"That's a conversation for another time," he answered much too quickly.

His father smelled nervous. Maybe not so much as a human would, but it was still there. Jack couldn't make sense of it. Why was Castiel keeping so much from him?

Still, perhaps he was right. They had to stay ahead of the angels, so Jack just slumped down in his seat, and relented. With not much else to do, he gazed down upon the water once more, mesmerized and confused and heartbroken with what Heaven was supposed to be.

"How are Sam and Dean?" he eventually asked.

"I don't know," his father told him honestly. "Hopefully well. Thinking about you, of course. They miss you very much. They've been trying very hard to get you back, even though they can't step foot into Heaven."

"But how are they?" Jack asked again, realizing Castiel had mostly avoided answering his question.

His father sighed, and he set the oars in the oarlocks and clasped his hands together in his lap. Jack looked up from the river to meet his gaze.

"They haven't been dealing with your capture very well. Oftentimes, when I was still around, I had to prod them into taking care of themselves, and most times they wouldn't listen. Sam's um… Well, he's sort of sick. Not really anything I can heal," Cas added, when Jack quickly opened his mouth. "He talked to me about it, and maybe he'll do the same with you. It's not mine to share. And Dean, he's very sorry about how he treated you before all of this. He knows you didn't deserve it, and he knows he was in the wrong. He just hopes he'll be able to make it up to you.

"They're… They're good men, Jack. They want to be fathers to you, just like I am. You don't have to accept them, but-"

Jack interrupted immediately, "I will. I will accept them. Dean… Dean was hurting before because you were dead. I see now that he needed someone to take it out on."

"Jack, that doesn't make his behavior okay."

Jack shrugged. Dean's behavior towards him, though it had prompted him to hurt himself, was the least of his problems. Heaven was something far more confusing now. It was all a myriad of hurt.

"Cas, I just want a family," he admitted, feeling the stupid pinch right near the bridge of his nose, like he was going to cry again.

Castiel reached across the space in between them, and gripped his shoulder.

"And you have one," he told him.

Jack bit his bottom lip to hold back his voice as he felt some tears spill free, and he sniffled. He wiped them away, and listened as his father told him, "And, I'm taking you to meet someone very special."

"Wh-who?" he got out.

"Your mother."

* * *

Eventually the Axis Mundi thinned, till both shores nearly touched, and the river had turned into just a trickle of water that ran over round, smoothened stones. Castiel drew the boat up on the sand, with Jack still in it, and then he helped him out. His father went to a tree not far from them, and carved an intricate symbol into it that Jack didn't recognize.

When Castiel pressed his hand to it the symbol glowed white-hot, making Jack have to shield his eyes, and then his father led him through a stand of two trees with pointed leaves.

Jack stepped out into daylight, mouth open in surprise.

They were in yet another garden, this one in the backyard of a house. A glistening pond surrounded by cut stone and flowers in vibrant pinks, and purples, and light, creamy blues, yellows, and oranges lay off to his left. And behind and beside him were shrubs in various greens, next to long grasses that gave way into reds and yellows, the flowers with rounded bulbs and soft petals that reminded him of stars. Amidst the wondrous, but meticulously placed nature was a big open space of manicured lawn, where there was a little girl with brown hair. She wore a pale dress with yellow flowers that had brown at their centers, and over it a plum-colored cardigan. In her right hand was a light-green, fuzzy ball.

Castiel was beside him, and he looked back at his father, furrowing his brows. He gestured for him to move forward.

Jack did so, and before his eyes, the little girl became his mother, the full cheeks that always looked like she was seconds away from a smile, the intelligent sea green eyes, a beautiful, full-grown woman. He'd never met her, and it was all his fault. He'd killed her. He'd killed her even after he'd saved her that time she'd tried killing herself. Jack knew her face from when he'd been inside her, had been able to see outwards, see her, see Castiel.

"Mom."

The ball dropped from her hand.

She smiled, but it was with confusion, and she looked around her. "No, this… This isn't right. Where am I?"

"You're in Heaven," Castiel told her, and he walked over, giving her a hug. She held him tightly, but still gazed upon Jack, taking him in, eyes searching, worried.

"Castiel, what's wrong with him? What's wrong with my boy? Why is he here?"

" _Mom_ ," Jack repeated.

She broke free of Castiel's hug, and rushed over to him, and though Jack was taller than her he felt so small in her arms. She smelled so human, so alive even though she was dead, like breath, and warmth, and comforting sweetness that made him feel something he'd almost never felt before; like coming home. Jack inhaled as much of her scent as he could, nose buried against her shoulder, and he clutched at her tightly, not wanting to ever let go.

He remembered her. After all the angels had done to his head, he remembered her. This was his mom, the one he'd been begging them to see, the one he'd cried out for while they hurt him, one of the only humans who had stayed pure in his mind while they defiled all the rest.

For that moment he didn't feel that tingling on his back, didn't feel that tugging in his gut, that tension in his chest, telling him to run, telling him that the angels were coming. He was with his mom, and he felt safe.

"Baby, what happened?"

"I grew up," he explained.

That was all he could think to say. He didn't know what else to do.

He felt his mother's head turn; she was probably now facing his father.

"Castiel, you were supposed to protect him." Her tone was fierce, and Jack pitied anyone who had to be on the other side of that.

"I know, Kelly. I did my best. I'm sorry. He's…"

"Oh god," she finished, and she pulled back to hold Jack's face in her hands. Her eyes were watery. "No, baby. No, no!"

He held her hands, and assured her. "Mommy, I'm alive."

She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply. But then she said, "But look at you! What happened to you? Baby, who hurt you?"

Castiel came over and put a hand on Kelly's shoulder.

"Kelly, it's a long story, and I don't have the heart to tell it."

She looked back at Castiel, something hard in her eyes, but then she said to Jack, "Jack, baby, tell me."

"It was the angels, mom."

Mom, mom, mom… He couldn't get over the novelty of saying _mom_. It was wonderful.

Still not understanding, but clearly wanting to protect him, Kelly was holding him again, and Jack could've stayed like that forever.

He didn't pay attention as Castiel went about the yard, setting up the warding, carving it into the grass or the trees or even the stone. He just ended up sitting on the grass with his mom, his head on her shoulder, and she ran her hand through his hair, telling him that everything was alright since she was with him.

"What did they do to you, sweetie?" she eventually asked.

"I… I don't know," Jack answered, realizing it was the truth. He didn't know what they had done to him. He couldn't say they'd taken him away from his home. He had run away. Nathaniel had taken him in. The angels had taken him in. They had hurt his head to help him be less confused, right? And playtime… The Room. Jack didn't know what they'd done to him. He started shaking when he realized this truth, and his mom kissed his head, and pulled him closer.

"It's okay, baby. I got you. They're not here."

Castiel came and sat down across from them, and he put a hand on Jack's knee, and Jack looked over at him in confusion, still not understanding the whole concept of touching or not touching someone now that Castiel had tried talking to him about it in the prison. His mom was touching him and that was alright.

"Castiel, you have to tell me."

"I can't," he admitted, looking away. "It's not a truth I want to leave you with. I just want you to know that I will be saving Jack, that he has a family who will take care of him, that he's going to be alright, and that he'll be _safe_ and _loved_."

His mom kissed him on the head again and Jack leaned into it, wrapping his arms around her. He could fall asleep like this. But even then his dreams wouldn't be pleasant. Jack wasn't safe in his dreams, even if he was safe right now. His dreams liked to hurt him.

"And I'm not keeping the truth from you out of guilt, or selfishness," he went on. "I'm doing it out of love, because I know it'll hurt too much. It's not a truth for a mother to hear."

Then, Castiel did something unexpected. He took out his angel blade, and got on his knees, and it reminded Jack of a movie that Sam had shown him. He bowed his head. "Kelly, I could never hurt you. Either of you. I will do my best to protect Jack, like I promised. I will stay by his side till the Sun has died in the sky, till the Earth is cold, and barren, till Heaven and Hell fall and it is just he and I who remain. I will lay down my life for him if necessary. I am sorry for how I have failed you, the both of you, but I swear, _never again_." Castiel was shaking with emotion by the time he finished, blade glowing as if his words had been bound to it, and Jack was in awe being witness to such a thing.

Jack took in his mother's expression. She was holding back tears, but also seemed unsure of what to do with a soldier of Heaven swearing fealty like this. She reached out and put a hand under his chin, lifting his head up.

"Thank you," she told him.

Castiel stood, and put his blade back in his coat, and then he helped Kelly and Jack up, and all three of them were hugging. Castiel's hand was around the back of Jack's head, protecting him.

Jack wanted to stay in that moment forever, but the sky darkened, and he knew that soon it would be time to go. He held onto his mom even tighter, not ready to say goodbye, wanting to apologize for her death, for everything, for her sadness, her suffering, her worry, wanting to see her smile again, wanting to get to know her as he got to know himself, wanting to learn from her, wanting to follow her to the ends of the Earth, and get to say the word _mom_ every day for the rest of his life.

Lightning flashed.

The angels were coming.

Time was up.


	21. Made of Steel

Sam wanted to go to the entrance right away, and Dean did as well, but they had to regroup. They had managed to get most of their stuff from the other motel, and after deeming that Cael wouldn't catch up to them any time soon they found another place to stay at. Anael went in to get them a room while Sam kept an eye on her - he would've gone in himself, but he didn't even have any shoes on, and his pajamas were stiff with dried sweat. Dean was worse, his shirt crusted near-brown with his blood.

"How's your shoulder?" Sam asked as he watched Anael.

She looked frustrated for some reason, and the Asian woman she was talking to was taking it all in stride, a snarky expression on her face. Sam hoped he wouldn't have to go in there and take care of things.

Dean had been rubbing at it as he asked the question, and he stopped, now looking at Sam.

"Oh, it's okay. Anael did a fine job. Just… you know, I feel like if I stand up I might suddenly end up on the ground."

"Well, once we get the room, I'm gonna take a quick shower, and you can lie down and get to sleep. Then I'll take Anael with me, and see if I can get some supplies."

Anael eventually came over with more grace than a pregnant woman should, looking none too happy, and Sam was surprised when she gave him less of his money back than he'd anticipated. He looked down at the wad of cash she'd shoved into his hand.

"What's this?" he asked.

"She made me pay for two nights."

"But it's only one night."

"She said since it's still the night shift, it counts as tonight, _and_ tomorrow night."

Sam rolled his eyes at that, but then let her get in before parking around back. He helped Dean inside before getting the bags in, and then he showered, leaving the door cracked, so he could chance hearing if Anael decided to leave. It wasn't the best plan for keeping her on lockdown, but Dean had all but passed out, and it wasn't as if Sam was going to have her in the bathroom with him.

After dressing and checking Dean's breathing and pulse, he left with Anael, the gray sky filtering into pink.

* * *

Dean woke up to a sharp pinch in the crook of his left arm, and then it traveled inward. His head spun, and he saw stars, feeling much too hot. It was a relief that he was already lying down. There was black, and he soon forgot what was going on. When he came back to himself, there was tape on his skin.

"What the hell?" he grumbled.

"Sorry." Sam's voice.

Dean chanced opening his eyes, and they felt like cooperating a bit, but not very much. He tilted his head to glare at his brother, who was working with a thin tube and a bag of water that he was attaching to the headboard.

"That water better be sterile," Dean grumbled.

Sam injected something into the line and then Dean tasted salt on his tongue.

"What the hell?" he asked again, more irritated this time. "You know I hate needles."

"I need you back on your feet," Sam told him. "You need water _and_ sleep, so why not both at once?"

"Where'd you get this stuff, Sammy?"

"Bribed a vet."

"With cash?"

"Nope. Made Anael heal one of the dogs he was going to have to put down."

"Oh."

That was all Dean got out before he nodded off again.

* * *

The pink of dawn had died, giving way to a dreary overcast day that seemed to promise rain. Even more clouds, darker ones, were building on the horizon, and then the horizon disappeared, and it seemed as if they were going right towards the storm that was brewing the closer they got to the gate.

It wasn't the right time of the year for weather like this, but Sam didn't bother pointing that out. It was still difficult to say exactly what the clouds were doing, and besides, growing up, he'd heard of tornadoes in winter.

"We should keep an eye on that," Sam pointed out to Dean, who was back behind the wheel of the Impala.

He was doing much better after getting fluids and resting, though neither of them had had time to eat a full meal. The most they'd managed was to scarf down some granola bars. But they had everything they needed for Jack, not completely sure what to expect: an extensive first aid kit, blankets, water bottles, juice, and plenty of crackers. They'd even gotten some of those stupid Lunchables things just because they also contained cheese and meat, and they didn't know if Jack would be needing that. They didn't know what state the kid would be in, and it made fear clutch at Sam in a spot he'd never felt it before, right at the bottom of his sternum where it met with his diaphragm. It was sickening, making it feel like he couldn't get enough air in, like he hurt, as if a lead weight had been placed against him.

They were going to save Jack, but he wasn't going to be okay, not for a long while.

Dean peered out the windshield, squinting at the clouds, looking none too happy about them.

"Friggin' great," he muttered. "Just what we need."

The clouds built into a roiling wall, that looked as if it ate up the miles they had left to go. Up above the wall, the clouds spread out horizontally, like they were swallowing up the sky. It was like a tsunami above them, wild and ultimate in its power, a reminder to Sam and Dean that they were nothing in the vast scope of the world, of the universe.

Still, they kept driving, till they were under those clouds, and the air was cold, the wind brutal. Sam kept his eyes peeled, looking for hail, lightning, a change in the wind to signal a tornado. There was nothing, but he still gripped the seat tightly. It was one thing being safe and underground when a tornado could suddenly touch down, and it was another driving right towards the weather that screamed danger.

Despite his size he could barely keep his footing once getting out of the Impala, and Dean had to hold Anael tight against him to keep her from blowing a few inches away. There were no angels guarding the oak tree before them, and there was no shimmering light. The gate was closed, and unguarded. Dean glanced at Sam, and he nodded. His brother took out his angel blade.

Lightning struck a mile off, and thunder seemed to sound right above them, vibrating in Sam's chest.

"Alright, here goes nothing!" Dean yelled over the roar of the wind.

He sliced into Anael's collarbone, making her cry out, the sound of her Grace ringing through the air, light shining from the bloody wound.

Dean cried, "Hey, you winged dicks! We want to talk! Come out and meet us!"

* * *

Duma and ten angels appeared in Kelly's Heaven, the wardings Castiel had carved all burned and ruined, the sky nearly black. Jack was so startled by the number that he almost hid behind Castiel. But he didn't. He pushed his mother behind him, shielding her, his arms out.

"Stay back," he warned.

"Jack, you have to come with us," Duma told him. "And we're done asking nicely."

At her words the angels had their blades out, and he bared his teeth at them. Castiel had his blade out as well, and was now pushing Jack behind him.

"Jack, do you remember how to get to the Axis Mundi from here?"

"Um…"

Castiel swiftly pressed his hand to his forehead, and a symbol burned itself into Jack's mind, and he was imbued with knowledge.

"Go. I'll get to you by another path."

Immediately knowing what to do, he took off at a run, his mother's hand in his.

Five angels broke off from Duma's ranks to head off after Jack and he crashed through the bushes and trees, Kelly behind him, the angels heading around and threatening to close them off. They ended up in a wooded area and Jack was whirling around, trying to figure out what to do. There wasn't anything that could be used as a doorway. But he was going to have to try.

He let go of Kelly, telling her to stay back so he wouldn't accidently hurt her, and he threw out his hand, using his powers to tear down some of the trees. They crashed into the angels, sending them hurtling backwards, broken wood stabbing into them, splinters tearing at their clothes and skin. It wasn't an exact doorway, but maybe it could work. Jack ran forward, skin crawling as it only made him get closer to the angels who were now standing and advancing on him, bloodied and angry.

Using his hands, he tried scratching the symbol into the ground, ignoring the awful, uncomfortable feeling of dirt, and tiny little rocks getting underneath his fingernails, his skin becoming green and brown.

When he was halfway done with the symbol Kelly yelled, "Baby, look out!"

Jack was bowled over onto his back, and he was quickly surrounded, his legs and arms and even his head held down.

The hands on him weren't friendly, weren't even gentle, but they were familiar, even though some of them hadn't been his playmates. They'd fed him, they'd taken him to the Room, they'd helped that day when they had pushed him too far and he had first tasted angel blood. Jack yearned for their blood now, but not in front of his mom. He couldn't do that to her.

He screamed, unleashing himself onto them, and the five of them went hurtling up and into the sky. Their broken wings spread out, black shadows against the darkness in the sky, but it did little to stop their fall, their feathers not fully grown in for reasons Jack couldn't understand. Then they were falling, and he was back to carving the symbol into the ground, doing his best to make sure he had it correct.

They landed, most finding their balance, and a hand snatched his shoulder. Jack leaned down and bit as hard as he could. The angel screamed, and he licked the sweet blood from his lips, hiding his face from his mom. The space between the trees was glowing, and Jack was going to run to it, but he looked back, at Kelly, and she was holding her hands over her mouth, frightened tears in her eyes.

Jack shoved his way through the angels, crying out at the blades cutting through his skin, and made his way to her.

"Come with me," he begged.

"Honey-"

"Come with me as far as you can."

She nodded, and Jack threw out his hand to clear a path for them. They rushed through the doorway together, making it to the Axis Mundi. And when they got there the boat was burning, sparks crackling into the vast sky bursting with exuberant wonder, smoke blocking out the stars.

Jack bowed his head in defeat, too tired to run the length of the great road, but then Kelly put an arm around him, her grip on him fierce.

"I know you can do this, Jack. I know you can."

Jack looked to his mother, eyes wide with all his doubts, his fears, and his mouth dropped open.

"I can't."

She took his face in her hands. "Listen to me, Jack. Yes, you can. You are far stronger than any human, than any angel. Stronger than me, stronger than your father." The tone in which she spoke of his father made Jack know that she didn't mean Castiel, and hurt flared in his chest, and he didn't even know why. "And no, it's not because of _what_ you are. It's because of _who_ you are. You are _good_. You are my _son_ , and I know you have strength left in you.

"I don't know what they did to you, baby. Perhaps I'll never know, but I know this: I gave birth to a wonderful, kind, _brave_ boy, and he is going to make it out of here."

Overcome with emotion from her words Jack pressed his forehead to hers, doing his best to hold back his tears, and she had a hand to the back of his head, keeping him close, and in that moment, Jack felt like he was part of her once again.

Knowing what he had to do, he was the first to falter back, and he took her hand, and started running along the shore, even when his bone weary body told him no, rocks scraping his bare feet.

It wasn't long before footsteps and shouted voices were following them.

* * *

Castiel lost track of his wounds, of the ringing of his Grace as the blades exposed it, lost track of the wounds to his enemies. They got him on the ground once more, and he almost fell to despair, closing his eyes for a moment too long to give in, to let his injuries take him, to let them drag him once more to the cells. A voice pierced the air, and even though the words were not directed at him, and they were foul and unfriendly, it gave him strength: Dean.

The angels faltered, and Castiel rose to his feet, blade gripped tightly in his right hand, not weakened just yet.

Duma was frowning, taking in Dean's words, his call for a meeting.

"He has Anael," she told Castiel. "He's hurting her."

Duma left, and for a few seconds with the other angels lacking someone to rally behind they were lost and confused, and Castiel made his move, breaking through their line. He raced through Kelly's Heaven, the angels now tailing him, getting to the pearly halls beyond, hoping he'd still be able to make it to his son, and wondering what in the world Dean's plan was.

Dean stiffened when shimmering light appeared before them and then an angel stepped forth. He recognized her from Anael's descriptions, and knew that this must be Duma.

Dean, knowing that he had to give this his all, lowered the blade to Anael's thigh and sliced parallel to her femoral artery. Anael gripped his arm that was around her shoulders to keep herself standing and she screamed through gritted teeth.

"I'm glad you came," Dean all but yelled, adding coldness to his voice, trying to make himself seem far from reasonable here.

He was past playing around. They were going to get Jack _today_.

"Dean, let Anael go."

"What do you think, Sam?" he called to his brother. "Should we let her go?"

Dean had seen fear in his brother's eyes moments before, but it was replaced with a chilling smile and something that didn't seem quite tame. He shook his head, coming over to her. Anael looked up at his brother, and Dean actually wondered what the hell he was doing when he cupped her face in his hand.

"No, we haven't finished having our fun yet," he said.

"You don't know what you're doing," Duma told them.

"Really?" Dean called. He held up his bloodied angel blade, examining it. "Because I think I have a weapon that can hurt angels, and I have a pretty angel _right here_."

For emphasis Dean cut into Anael's forearm and her nails felt like claws threatening to rip through his clothing. Emotionally, he felt nothing from this, nothing at all. During the drive he'd taken every part of himself that had welled up, that had fought against this plan, that had tried to stop him, and he'd locked it away. The Dean that didn't want to hurt Anael? He was in chains, a gag over his mouth. The Dean that didn't like torturing? He was busy drowning. The Dean that didn't like women being afraid of him? He'd taken a nice long hike off of a cliff. The Dean that felt it was his duty to protect people rather than make them bleed and scream? Well, Dean had put him in a round room and told him to go sit in the corner.

The Dean that liked torture had come out to play. Idly, he wondered what parts of Sam had come out to do the same. What version of his brother was he with now?

" _She's important_ ," Duma told them.

Sam rubbed a hand over her stomach, and Anael fought against them, but Dean put the blade to her throat, which stopped her struggling. He was past wondering if she was acting, or if they were actually frightening her. They were big men. Having the ability to scare women was something they were always aware of. Mostly they did their best to be kind, to help, to protect those who couldn't protect themselves, which was what they were ultimately doing now in trying to get Jack, but this was a means to an end. They had to do this.

"We know," Sam responded.

"Give us Jack!" Dean ordered.

Duma said nothing, which apparently made Sam think it was a good idea to improvise because he took out his own angel blade. Anael's breathing grew harsh, and her struggles renewed.

 _Easy,_ Dean prayed to her. _Easy, everything's gonna be fine._

The wind continued whipping their hair and clothing about them, and still they waited for something to happen. Duma seemed at a loss.

Trying to show Duma his impatience, feeling it boiling in his blood like the clouds above him, Dean sliced into Anael's cheek.

"Enough!" the angel across from them cried.

"Then give us Jack."

"I… I can't," Duma told them.

Dean grabbed Anael's hair now, craning her head way back, blade at her throat, even slicing into her about a millimeter, and Duma stepped forward, hands out, seeming completely helpless. He took a step back, Anael nearly falling as she came with him.

"Give him to us!" Dean cried. "Now!"

"We need him!"

"He's our kid!" Sam yelled at her in response.

And then Duma did something unexpected. She fell to her knees, head bowed, and then her shoulders started shaking as she began to cry.

"We… We need him!" she repeated. "Don't you get it? Heaven will _die!_ The souls will fall to Earth. Everything will become pain and death and decay if we don't have him. Y-your boy is saving _everyone_!"

"Well, did you ask him?" Sam asked.

"What?"

The air grew bitingly cold and heavy, and then rain fell all around them. Lightning hit the ground a few hundred feet off, making Dean's hair stand on end, but he held his ground. The thunder that followed sounded like the wrath of God.

Sam stepped forward, blade held at the ready. He stood before Duma now, chest heaving, towering over her.

"Did you ask him if he wanted to help? Does he even know what you're doing to his body?"

"N-no, but-"

"Then you don't get to tell us that you _need him_ , you don't get to tell us that he's important. You don't get to act all high and mighty and like you're doing the right thing because you're _not_. Do you want to know what you did, what you're doing? I'm gonna lay it out for you, nice and simple, just so you can understand. You kidnapped a child. You held him prisoner. You held him from his family. You _raped him_. You made him impregnate someone who wanted no part in this. You have turned an innocent child into someone who has been scarred very, _very_ deeply. You took someone not even a year old and made him a father. You took _my_ child _and you hurt him_. _You. Hurt. Him._ And for what? To save Heaven? What is Heaven worth if you'll rape a child to save it? I've died, I've been to Heaven, I've been to Hell, and while you have your white halls, and your starlight, and your golden Grace, it's all a façade to hide the monsters underneath that you really are. At least in Hell demons look the part. But underneath your beauty, underneath your promises and your pretty words and your talk of salvation, you're nothing but angels with broken wings, ready to fall at any moment. If Satan took one look at you, at what you've done, he'd welcome you with open arms. I'd gladly let you burn together. So take your _we need him_ shit and shove it up your ass. You can go to Hell."

Sam stepped back, blade held at Anael's stomach, which made Dean have to hold her more tightly, and Sam roared, " _Now give me my son!_ "

Duma tilted her head back, facing his brother, determined. "I can't."

"Why not?" Dean growled. "And do not give me some crap about Heaven dying or else I'm gonna start getting more creative."

A battle cry left her throat and she stood, three angels charging from the gate towards them.

* * *

Castiel had found a bedroom and was taking refuge there to heal his wounds before going back out into the fight. He'd barricaded the door with a warding. There was pounding outside, the warding melting and burning. The angels would get in.

It hadn't taken Castiel long to figure out why there was a bedroom in Heaven. It had been Jack's room. He had sat hunched over in the middle of the floor, holding his bleeding side, the red liquid running through his fingers, breaths hitched, as he sobbed for his son.

His other hand was at a slash on his neck, which was slowly sewing itself shut. The blade that had driven into him had gone into his trachea, making his voice choked and mangled.

When those wounds healed, he forced himself to stop crying, forced himself to bury the pain, to compartmentalize it, to save it for another day. Today was the day he would save his son. Today was not the day to mourn what had happened, but the day to fight back. It was the day to stand for something, to show his brethren that they were _wrong_.

Castiel let the angels in.

* * *

They caught up to Jack. Of course they did. He was weakened from whatever it was they'd done to him, weakened from refusing to eat, tired from everything he'd had to put up with. So Kelly pushed Jack into the water and urged him to swim. Jack didn't know how to swim, but he was going to have to try. He'd seen it done before, in movies his family had shown him.

He had thought the water would make his injuries sting, but instead it was soothing, yet his crimson blood tainted the river, darkening its twinkling hues.

For a moment he remembered _The Fellowship of the Ring_ , with Sam going after Frodo at the end, and almost drowning to stay with his friend.

Jack had no Frodo to save him.

The water was quickly over his head, and he couldn't seem to stay afloat, and he held his breath, but he was going under.

No, no! It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't!

He felt his mom at his side, putting his arm around her, bringing him back to the surface, towards life, even though he'd taken it from her, and he gasped once his head breached the surface.

"Don't fight the water," she told him.

Jack looked behind him, saw the angels start wading in after them, and his heart fell in despair. A whimper rose in his throat without his consent, but his mom kept going, kicking her legs.

He attempted to copy what his mom was doing, but he couldn't quite see everything, the water distorting the image of her body before the light reached his eyes. It was futile.

"Jack, baby, you have to trust me. Get on your back."

Jack was confused. How could he get on his back? There was nothing to lie on.

His mother started turning him, and he held on tighter, his extra weight making her head go below the water. She came back up, smiling at him against all odds, trying to comfort him.

"It's okay, Jack. On your back. I'm trying to teach you how to float."

Jack did as she said, and he listened to all her instructions as she had him tilt his head back, and spread his arms and legs out, and to his utmost surprise, he was floating in the water. Kelly grabbed hold of him and kept swimming, even though the other shore was far, far away from them. And Jack saw nothing but the sky up above him, the lights like the Grace of a trillion angels. Jack lifted his head up, trying to see the angels in pursuit, but he started falling in the water then, and he thrashed, splashing about, reaching for Kelly.

"Jack, shh… It's okay," she told him, words hurried, nearly harsh. He didn't blame her. This was a tense situation and he was completely useless.

There was motion nearby, and getting closer all the time, and his mom grew more desperate.

Then Jack was taken from his mother, and he was getting hauled onto the angel's shoulders like he weighed nothing, and he was screaming, trying to reach out for Kelly. He needed his mom, he needed her!

Suddenly, there was a burst of white light that dissipated into gray smoke and Jack splashed into the water, inhaling it. His throat and lungs ached and he tried to cough, tried to breathe, tried to yell, but there was only that burning agony. His head was pounding, vision going dark.

What was that thing his father had said? It was water, but it wasn't.

It was water, but it wasn't.

If it wasn't water then why was he drowning?

He shouldn't have been drowning.

And then he wasn't.

The water that wasn't, but was, left his lungs and he resurfaced. Still, Jack gasped for air, and he relished in it, and for that second he loved the feeling of being alive. Then he was grabbed again, and he saw featherless wings reflected on the water, reminding him of when Indra had died.

Had he just killed an angel?

Jack and Kelly were taken to shore, thrown down on the ground, and Laila stepped in front of them. Fire stirred in Jack's gut, and he grunted, lowering his head, hiding his eyes from his mother, though he didn't know why.

"We're done being nice to you, Jack," Laila said. "You're coming with us."

An angel in a big vessel grabbed him, and Kelly was grabbed as well.

"Fight back and we hurt her," Laila informed Jack.

He spat at her and she slapped him in the face so hard that it drew blood.

Kelly screeched at her, "You let my boy go!"

But none of the angels listened, and Jack and Kelly were taken away. Jack had worried at first that he would be separated from his mom, but they kept her with him, maybe so he would cooperate. He had to get out of this, he had to. He'd tasted life away from them and whatever it was they did to him, tasted life outside the Room, and he wasn't about to give up.

But he was tired, so very tired. Maybe he could just go to sleep…

Jack met his mom's gaze, saw that it was filled with steel.

And Jack was made from that same steel.

Somehow, in some way, he wasn't going to let them take him back.


	22. Earth

**A/N: Along with the usual non-con sexual tones, and graphic violence, this chapter contains suicidal thoughts.**

* * *

Sam's eyes widened as the three angels came towards him, but he acted quickly, adrenaline already pumping through his veins. He picked a target and ran to meet them, eyes on their face to judge where they'd put their blade. He dodged when they met on the ground that was already turning to mud, twisted his arm up to stab at their throat, but his blade was parried. Sam felt another presence at his side, and he ducked and turned, just in time as he sensed metal slice through the rain where he had been a second before. So the battle for Jack had begun.

Dean had released Anael, who was on her hands and knees on the ground. Sam backed up to guard her, kicking the nearest angel in the chest, which sent him backwards more than it did the angel. He caught himself just before he fell on the bleeding, panting woman, who seemed to be healing. Duma had yet to join the fight, was simply watching, saving her energy.

A fist caught Sam's jaw and the force sent him to one knee. Panic jolted through him, but he reacted without thinking, charging at the angel's legs, and tackling them to the ground, grabbing for their wrist with his free hand, and trying to stab at their chest. His wrist was grabbed, and was squeezed till he was screaming. The angel headbutted him, and kicked him off of him, and into the mud, Sam's blade falling from his hand.

Sam was already on his stomach, scrabbling in the wet grass for the angel blade, breath coming in heaving pants. He heard Dean struggling with the other two angels, Sam's foot was grabbed, and then Anael cried out and the hand was gone from him. When he grabbed the blade and turned he saw that she was up on her feet and had tossed the angels back, her eyes glowing a mixture of blue and gold, all her injuries healed. Clearly, the baby was getting involved, and Sam forgot how to breathe, fearful that he'd be seen as an enemy.

Anael turned her gaze on him, and Sam stilled, wondering if he was about to die. But the mother-to-be simply signaled for him to get to his feet, and he did so.

A purple bar of lightning struck a mile off, thunder rattling the sky, the clouds looking as if they were about to descend and eat them.

The angels reformed their line, and this time Duma led the charge. Sam and Dean took their positions on either side of Anael, and screamed their rage at the oncoming angels, blades held at the ready, willing to fight until Jack was returned to them.

* * *

Castiel stayed near the doorway, lessening the number of adversaries he had to fight since they couldn't all get into the room at once. But soon, one became two, which became five, as they pushed him back more and more and they got into the room and surrounded him. They were closing in, blades pointed at him, and if he didn't think fast, he'd be taken prisoner soon.

"Castiel, the fight is over," Tamiel told him, as she took another step forward, their ranks closing in.

* * *

Silver sliced through Dean's cheek, arcing towards his earlobe, and he grit his teeth against the numbing pain, which turned hot. The adrenaline coursing through him made it so he barely felt the sting, and his shoulder was grabbed, and he was shoved, making him slip in the mud. Dean was down on his back. He rolled, dodging a blade that was about to be stabbed down into his throat, and he found himself praying, praying that this wasn't all for nothing.

* * *

Castiel felt Dean as if he was right beside him, his strong, sturdy presence, accompanied with his warmth, and even his musky scent. He was in trouble. He had to get to him, but not without Jack. That's what Dean was fighting for.

"No, it's not."

Castiel turned so that his right shoulder was facing the doorway, and ran right at it, even with the angel who was in the way. The angel blade stabbed through into his bicep, making itself known as ruining, aching pressure, and he screamed. He kept going, till he was out in the hall, and the angel was rammed against the wall. The others grabbed at him immediately, but Castiel drew himself off of the blade and used his Grace to force them back.

The lights failed, and Castiel made it so he saw through to their Grace. It was beautiful in its power, but oily and tainted, ready for damnation. Castiel was grabbed around the neck, fingers digging into where his wound had not yet fully healed, and he was getting dragged back into the room. He lifted himself up, kicked out with his feet, one of them connecting with an angel, the other flailing through air, and he grabbed at the arms that held him. With his weight he dragged them down to the ground and flipped them, his arm protesting at the movement, bleeding more profusely as his heart pumped wildly.

Someone's Grace shoved against him, and he went hurtling back into the room, into the bed, the force shattering the wood.

He was up on his feet before they entered, and was already running at the doorway, not wanting to get stuck in that room and get captured.

* * *

Jack stumbled along the Axis Mundi and was so tired that he ended up getting dragged. His throat was parched, and there was a hollow ache in his stomach that he wasn't sure he wanted to satisfy. The thought of food made him sick. It seemed like an eternity passed before they were in the all too familiar white hallways.

But there was blood.

A lot of blood, the deep crimson tarnishing these perfect halls.

There was shouting, the thumping of bodies, the ring of blades clashing together.

Darkness fell.

Laila went on ahead to investigate while ordering for Jack and Kelly's captors to remain behind. Jack wished to reach out for his mother in the deep shadows of Heaven, but his arms were held tightly, and he'd been told to cooperate, or else she would get hurt. He wasn't sure what angels could do to souls, but he didn't want to find out. The lights were flickering now.

Voices sliced into Jack's head, and he squeezed his eyes shut, mouth opening as he cried out. He was vaguely aware of his mother struggling to get to him. He stopped to take a breath, and then he heard a sound of pain from her. Despite his own agony and exhaustion, Jack struggled. Eyes cracked open slightly, vision blurred and hazy with the ringing in his head, the angelic voices yelling orders, he saw his mom get slapped.

"It's okay, baby!" she assured. "It's okay, Jack. Just stay still. It's okay."

He growled, feebly kicked, but gave in, knowing that his struggles were part of the reason his mom was getting hurt and blood was now trickling from her lip.

The voices died, but were still present, and Jack shook his head, trying to clear it.

Laila returned, nearly jogging, and all went dark once more. But Jack could still see, could still smell, and sense, and feel.

Words spiked through the air between her and the other angels, a message that Jack couldn't understand, that had him groaning and wincing, and then he was getting carried down the hall and towards the right. The sounds of the fighting were growing louder.

Jack heard his father cry out, and Kelly yelled, "Let us go!"

Laila turned on them, making the guards come to an abrupt halt. The lights flared to life, making Jack's eyes water. There was no longer a blood trail on the path they were taking, but Jack's scraped feet were leaving one.

"We need your son," Laila told her. "So no, I won't be letting him go." She grabbed Kelly's face, and she tried to pull away but it was no use. "And to get him to cooperate I need you. He's powerful enough to kill all of us, to destroy all of Heaven. So I need you to be good, and make sure he minds his manners. Too bad you didn't get to teach him any."

"Why?" Kelly asked. "Why are you hurting him?"

"Oh, but we're not hurting him." Laila released Kelly and went over to Jack now, lifting his head up. "Are we, Jack?"

He avoided her gaze; he'd much rather prefer it if she were Nathaniel or Anael, but she was neither of them. She was right though, wasn't she? They weren't hurting him, not exactly, not all the time. But what were they doing to him? Jack didn't understand, and he didn't always like it.

"Come on, Jack, be polite. It's rude to not look someone in the eye when they're talking to you."

Jack did as she said, and he shivered as he did so. She'd taken him to the Room before. He remembered feeling her restrain him. And he remembered her on him that first day, all soft and hot. Jack was sickened by this, by the angels, and he was filled with fear, not sure what Laila was going to do in front of his mom. Was Laila going to take him to the Room and that's why they needed her? Jack just barely remembered it, remembered an ache, a fire.

"See? Now tell mommy what we've been doing to you."

"I… I don't know," Jack got out.

Laila stroked a hand through his hair, and he found himself leaning into it, despite what Castiel had said about the angels touching him. Many of the angels had touched him. A great deal of them had nice hands. Laila certainly did, though she wasn't Anael.

"It's okay," she told him. "You can tell her."

"I don't know!" he forced out again.

Whatever it was had Castiel devastated, so it wasn't something for his mother to know. It wasn't Jack's place to break her. He'd already killed her. He thought he might just kill himself if he broke her heart.

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!"

Laila gripped his hair and tilted his head back.

"Tell her."

"'M sorry," he got out. "Mom, I'm sorry. Please, I'm sorry."

He looked to his mom now and saw that she was crying, but clearly she still didn't know what was going on.

"It's alright, sweetie, you didn't do anything."

"Oh, but he did," Laila informed her. "He did a lot of things. Jack here likes his angels all nice and willing."

Jack's bottom lip was trembling now, and he couldn't take his eyes off of Kelly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"In fact, he likes it rough." Laila turned to Kelly to see if she was paying attention, and was addressing him now, "Don't you, Jack? You like to hurt them, don't you? Like how you hurt me?"

Jack didn't know what she was talking about, but then thought to how he'd tried to hurt her, to how she'd cried out, and how he'd had to be held down so she could ride him with less pain.

She slapped him in the face, hard, his cheek burning and stinging, and there was hot blood on his cheek.

"Oh, I've been wanting to do that," the angel practically moaned.

"Baby, what's she talking about?" his mom asked.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Jack repeated. Now he started sobbing. "I'm sorry, Mom!"

Laila pouted. "Oh, you hear that, mommy?" she asked mockingly. "He says he's sorry." She leaned in now, saying, "I'm going to take you back to that room, and I'm going to leave you there for _hours_."

"No! No, no, _no!_ "

"And mommy can't save you."

Jack realized he couldn't fight. He had to let it happen or else they would hurt Kelly, and he'd already hurt her much more than he'd intended to.

Laila continued down the hall. Jack was dragged past his mom, who looked at him, tears trailing down her cheeks, and then she was being brought up behind him.

"Let him go!" Kelly screeched. "Don't touch him!"

"We've already touched him," Laila informed her coldly, as if the words meant nothing to her. Maybe they didn't. Jack was just an assignment to her, an assignment who had gotten out of hand.

Kelly screamed, voice devoid of words, but filled with hurt and fury, and Jack wanted to go to her, to hold her to make it stop, to tell her he was sorry, that he didn't mean to hurt her, that everything was alright, that he wouldn't do it again.

Golden fire flared in his chest, roaring like the wrath of a god, and when Jack screamed, the angels that held them went flying all the way down the hall, and Laila was thrown as well, vessel hurtling till there was a massive _crack!_ and Jack was left, barely standing. He rushed to his mom who was on her hands and knees behind him, hugging her still-wet form as she hunched over and screamed, face red with anguish. It was the worst sound Jack had ever heard in his entire life, and it just wouldn't stop.

" _My baby!_ " she began to yell. " _My baby!_ "

"It's okay, Mom! It's okay. I'm right here! I'm right here! I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

The angels were getting to their feet, and Jack tried lifting his mom up, but he was too tired.

"Mom, we have to go."

Kelly just held him, as if she'd never let him go again, as if she was going to fight right there in that hallway, and make their last stand. Kelly took his face in her hands, quieting, and she looked at him, eyes filled with sorrow.

"Tell me they didn't," she murmured. "Jack, baby, _please_."

He didn't know what she meant, and he couldn't look her in the eye, couldn't face all that hurt. She pressed her forehead to his, and sniffled.

"It's okay," she told him. "It's okay. It's not your fault. Just remember that."

"Mom, I'm fine," he told her, not even sure why he was saying those words when he felt so far from fine. The lie was so brittle that anyone could see its falsehood.

"No, honey," she told him. "No, you're not."

"Mom, we have to get to Castiel."

An angel was rushing over towards them, and Jack got to one knee, hand up to protect his mom, and his eyes widened in surprise when it was neither of the four angels who had taken him captive and had been taking him to the room. Those angels were still hurrying down the hall, and Jack wasn't sure how this one had managed to get past them.

"Nathaniel?"

"Come with me."

He grabbed Jack's elbow, and Jack helped his mom stand. She then ended up helping him, and they hurried back the way they'd come. Nathaniel used his Grace to fend off the three angels approaching from the left, and they followed the trail of blood.

* * *

Lightning rent the sky in two, and thunder rained down from above, as if some divine drums of war were pounding a call to arms. Dean could barely feel his body. He had been hit so many times that it had gone utterly numb, and all the cuts that he received meant nothing in the moment. He and Sam had managed to take down one of the angels, much to Duma's dismay, so now it was three against three. Or three against four if you counted the unborn child that was giving Anael's powers a boost. Sometimes amidst the fighting she'd stare at him with those mighty glowing eyes and he'd feel the smallness of humanity, and like he was about to cease to exist. But then she'd turn to one of their enemies and her Grace was challenged by theirs.

Dean was doing his best to just stay alive. He didn't know these angels, didn't know if they had raped Jack, if they had wanted to rape Jack, if they thought it was the right thing, or if they thought it was wrong, but they were fighting against him, and fighting so that each second nearly meant death for him.

Sam's fight was just the same, but his brother was still alive - bleeding and bruised, but alive. Sometimes they'd end up back to back, and they'd help each other out, and other times they were torn apart, on opposite sides of the battle field. The grass had all been trampled and ripped up, furrows from their boots driven into the mud.

Even with the small number, fighting smelled. The sweat that they released in battle always smelled worse than normal - it was the scent of tension, of fear, of adrenaline, of sheer desperation, and that was mixed with the metallic sweetness of blood, and now the wet earth, and the dead vessel that lay on the ground. Usually dead bodies didn't stink right away, but Sam had happened to slice open the angel from collarbone to pelvis, spilling out intestines, and man, did those fucking reek.

Just as Dean got the angel off of him, someone slammed into him from behind, an adversary he hadn't been aware of. When he landed and turned he roared at this new enemy. It was Cael. He'd caught up to them after the car accident, and was apparently not feeling too happy about it.

"Nice to see you again, Dean!" he cried, trying to get his hands around his throat. He was forgoing using a blade, apparently wanting to kill Dean the old-fashioned way, with his bare hands.

Sam lunged at Cael and got him off of Dean, and then Dean was drawn back into the fight, not even able to pause and thank his brother.

God, they were going to die.

 _Come on, Cas. Get the kid outta there!_

As he dodged a blow, and slashed into an angel's wrist, he added to his prayer, _And make sure you fucking come back alive, you son of a bitch._

* * *

Jack saw his father taking on five angels, and they had him closed in. They were near his bedroom, but farther down, closer to where Nathaniel had taken Jack to meet up with Castiel before. Were they heading to the gate?

"Cas!" he called.

His father turned, and three angels broke off to go after them. One of them was Tamiel, and Jack's first instinct was to go to her, but he froze. It was impossible to understand what was going on.

"Nathaniel, get him to me!" Castiel called.

"Come on," Nathaniel urged, gripping his hand hard.

The angels didn't fight at first, just blocked their way to Castiel, who was standing, breathing hard, bleeding heavily from multiple wounds, but still ready to continue fighting.

"Jack, please," Tamiel began, "we don't want to hurt you."

"Tamiel, I don't understand," Jack told her.

"It's okay. We just need you to go back to your bedroom."

Kelly squeezed his hand, and Jack looked down at it. Then he looked back at Tamiel, shaking his head.

Tamiel wasn't the one who moved first, but the angel to Jack's right. Nathaniel got in front of him, and there was a struggle. He managed to wrest the blade from the other angel, though he didn't kill him. He just lunged, sending him sprawling, and sliced into his heels, leaving him too wounded to walk. Tamiel wasn't paying attention to Nathaniel, but was now heading to Jack. He ran, slipping past her, Kelly doing the same, but there were still two more angels between him and his father.

Jack didn't know what to do. It'd be much easier to just lie down and give up than think about pushing past those angels and getting to Castiel. Killing them came to mind, but darkness enshrouded them once more and he knew he couldn't do it. Kelly held onto him tighter, not able to see in the darkness like him, save for the sparks from the blades.

An angel grabbed him in the dark, tugging him away from his mom, till they no longer held hands and were reaching out for each other.

A blade was raised, maybe as a warning, maybe to injure, maybe to pin him down.

A shadow moved before him, there was a choked scream in a voice he recognized, and bright light flared through the hallway, the last ray of strength before the fall, painting Heaven in shadows.

When the lights came to life once more, Nathaniel dropped to the tile floor, blood seeping from his chest, where pure silver stuck out like an ugly thorn. His nearly featherless wings were etched black against the stark white.

Jack's world became silent and numb, and he was on his knees beside Nathaniel, holding onto his body.

Maybe he begged for him to get up, maybe he asked him to go home with him, maybe he told him he forgave him, maybe he told him he was sorry.

Castiel was dragging him away, Nathaniel's body getting blocked as angels tried to get closer to him. His mom was with him.

Then he was gone. No more Nathaniel.

Jack was up and running, crying, his mother and father with him, and there were so many twists and turns in the halls that he barely processed them before they stood before a doorway of pure light.

Kelly turned him to face him now, holding his face in her hands.

She looked to Castiel, and his father must have made a face to tell her something because then she said to him, "This is as far as I go."

"Mom, I don't want to go," he whimpered out. "I don't want to leave you."

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay. You have Castiel. He's gonna protect you."

"I will," Castiel promised.

Kelly kissed his forehead, and her tears fell onto his face.

"Baby, I'm sorry," she told him. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. You are such a beautiful boy. You're going to be okay."

"Jack, it's time to go."

Jack heaved out a sob, and hugged his mom hard, not ever wanting to leave her, but then it was her turn to hug Castiel.

"Cas, I know," she told him.

"Kelly, I'm so sorry."

"No, you didn't do it. It's not your fault. Cas… I… I don't want to be here. Please, I don't want to be here. They hurt my boy, they hurt my boy!"

"Shh, shh, shh…"

Castiel kissed her head, and held her close.

"I know. I know." Then he whispered, but Jack could still hear him, "Don't let him see you like this. Be strong for him. Kelly, you're one of the strongest women I have ever had the privilege of knowing. It is an honor to know you, an honor to be his father. You will go back to your Heaven, and you will be alright. Jack will be alright. He's under my protection, and my care. We will find a way to fix this."

They were close for a few moments, foreheads pressed together, hands held, and then Kelly nodded, and she turned to Jack.

"Be strong, Jack, and love."

"I love you," he told her.

"I love you, too, baby."

Jack held her hand as long as he could as Castiel pulled him through the gate.

* * *

Sam had managed to get to the trunk of the Impala amidst all the fighting, and had found their supply of holy oil. He had done his best to spread it out in a circle on the ground, realizing that this fight was futile, that they weren't getting Jack, and the angels needed to be pushed back.

Sam didn't end up getting a circle all around the tree, and barely even managed a semi-circle around the front of it. An angel crashed into him, slashing into his arm, and the jar broke, the remaining oil soaking out into the ground. The rain still hadn't let up, but the oil would most likely burn.

His face was smashed down into the mud, and he held his breath, fighting with everything he had to be let up again. There was the unmistakable rush of air as someone used their Grace, and he got up on all fours. Sam searched in his pocket for a match as he jogged back across the line, blade in hand, but it must've fallen out.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

Castiel came out of the gate, and Sam stopped breathing when he saw Jack was following him, looking half-dead, but they were being chased by more angels.

* * *

Jack was nearly blown back when he stepped out onto Earth. A storm was raging outside, and there was fighting. His family was covered in blood and mud, so much so, that he only recognized them because of their size.

He lit up upon seeing them, and there was someone very familiar with them as well: Anael.

He called out to her, full of relief to see that she and the baby were alright.

Cael grabbed her just as Castiel was moving, angel blade flying past him, aimed where Cael had been standing, and Jack stood frozen, only able to watch, as the blade struck deep into Anael's abdomen. Shock was written all over her face, her eyes wide, and she looked down. Jack screamed, watching her face go pale, watching as she fell to her knees. He ran, Castiel ran, Sam, and Dean ran.

She was dead, the light of her Grace bursting through her vessel, blinding him by the time he got to her. Jack tangled his fingers in her wet hair, pulling the blade free, hand shaking when he saw the blood on it - her blood, her baby's blood.

"Heal her!" Jack yelled at his father. " _Heal her!_ "

"Jack-"

"Do it! Please, just do it! You have to do it! You have to! He-eal h-her!"

The fighting had ceased, everyone standing around in complete shock, staring at Anael's body, knowing that they had lost her, had lost a mother, had lost a baby.

Castiel was the first one to step into action, taking the blade, and marking it with Cael's blood, ending his life, but Jack felt nothing from it, just held his friend. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing, lifeless, rain falling down upon her.

"Anael, it's me," he told her, shaking her as if it would make her wake up from the sleep of death. "It's Jack. If… If you get up, I'll-I'll eat. I'll… I'll do anything. I'll play with you, I'll make you laugh, I'll even say hi to your baby. Anael, please."

But just like with Nathaniel he was getting taken away from her, and Castiel was the one doing it.

Jack was hitting him, trying to dig into his forearm with his nails.

He'd thrown the blade.

He'd killed Anael.

"Bring her back!" he screamed. "Bring her back! Bring her back!"

In his sorrow at losing two of his friends that day, his powers were released and fire flared to life in a semi-circle around the angels that had been going after them.

Castiel forced him into the backseat of Dean's car, and Dean got in the front, Sam in the passenger's seat, and Castiel joined him in the back.

"No! _No!_ " Jack screamed, trying to open his door, but Castiel was holding him to him. "You can't just leave her! You can't! _You can't!_ "

But she was ringed in fire, and Dean was already driving away from all his ruin.

Jack was on Earth once more, with his family, but all he could do was cry.


	23. Is This Real?

**A/N: WARNING: This chapter contains self harm, and touches upon a trauma related eating disorder.**

* * *

Exactly seven minutes passed before Jack stopped trying to get out of the car. In that time he thought Castiel might've healed his feet. He couldn't really make sense of what was said then, but he knew Castiel's arms were around him, and one of his legs had gotten around him as well. There was something else wrapped tight, holding him close, but Jack couldn't figure out what it was, an extension of Castiel that he felt as strong, solid bones, and light, more pure than anything he'd been touched by before. It did nothing to soothe him, did nothing to erase the image in his mind of his friend lying dead, with a baby in her belly that would never speak their first word. He wouldn't even get to see how much they looked like Anael, or ask who the father was. Then there was Nathaniel, dead in the hallway, blade sticking out of his chest, left there as if he meant nothing. His family had taken him away as if it had all meant nothing, as if he had been in Heaven all that time doing nothing. But he hadn't been doing nothing! The angels they'd… they'd…

Jack didn't know what they'd been doing!

So he thrashed, and he sobbed, and his family tried to get him to calm down, and he fought them, and then the car stopped moving.

He had to stop to catch his breath, and Castiel was still holding him, and he looked up, realized that they were pulled over on the side of the road, and Sam and Dean were turned to him. It was impossible to read the expressions on their faces that were smeared with gore, but they reeked of guilt and worry.

"...kid, it's alright," Dean was finishing, one of his hands out.

Jack stared at all of them with huge eyes.

"Seemed like you were gonna tear the car apart, so we had to pull over," Dean explained.

"But we're gonna find the nearest motel, and we're gonna take care of you," Sam said. "Okay? You're safe now."

"Th-th-they're dead," Jack got out.

"Yes, Jack," Castiel began, voice gentle. "Nathaniel, and Anael are dead."

Though he knew it he still asked, "And the baby?"

Silence.

Eventually:

"Dead," Sam answered.

Castiel brushed a hand through Jack's hair and he frowned, turning to look at his father in confusion, but he had moved quickly, alarming Dean.

"Whoa, whoa, Jack, hey, it's alright. Just try to relax."

Jack took Castiel's hand, holding on tight.

"Why?" he asked.

Dean: "Jack, we can do this later."

"You said to not let the angels touch me. You're an angel, and you're touching me. Why?"

"Jack, I'm your father."

Utterly lost and confused, he squeezed Castiel's hand till he was wincing, but he didn't draw away, and then he placed his hand to his cheek. He bowed his head, and then leaned against him, exhausted.

"I don't _understand_."

Sam's hand was reaching out to him, but then withdrew, fingers curling in to almost make a fist, as if he regretted what he had almost done.

"We'll talk about it later," Sam said. "We just have to get you somewhere warm and dry. You gonna be okay the rest of the ride?"

Jack just nodded his head, though he was sure he'd never be okay again.

Castiel began to draw Jack into his arms, but he pushed him away, with a firm, "No."

"Jack, please."

Jack just glared.

His father sighed deeply. "Many things happen during battles, and things can go wrong. Accidents happen."

It didn't matter to Jack. That didn't change what had happened. Anael's body was still lying there, and her blood and her baby's blood was still on one of Jack's hands. Tentatively, he lifted his left hand to stare at the crimson liquid on his fingers. That very same liquid had seeped from Nathaniel's chest. It had come from his fingers when he'd bitten him all those weeks ago. It tasted good. It would taste good now if he put it to his lips, if he reached out his tongue, and… Sickened, he lowered his shaking hand.

Dean had gotten the car back on the road, and the storm raged on, whipping across the land with a vengeance. Jack wanted to go out into that storm just so he could feel something. But he was numb as he sat there and realized he was free, numb as he took in the injuries his family had sustained - the stabs, the slashes, the bruises, and others he smelled as a deep hurt.

Was this even real?

Maybe he was just in the Room again, coming up with a different reality to get through it. But Jack didn't feel like he was in the Room. He couldn't remember what it felt like, but he knew it didn't feel like nothing.

The Room was something.

This was numb, empty, void of anything.

He stayed that way the rest of the ride.

* * *

Castiel wasn't quite sure how they were going to get a motel room, but he was the least filthy of his family, so he was the one sent in to do so. The wound in his bicep was slowly healing, but it ached mercilessly with each movement, and it took all his strength to not whimper and moan. While Jack had been sobbing he'd forced himself to ignore it, to tell himself it was just a sensation, but as his son had quieted, the pain had made its way to the surface, so he was practically growling when he got into the office.

There was an aging man there in a sweater and a worn hat covering sparse hair, who seemed quite startled to see Castiel. He started reaching for something, and Castiel had been around humans long enough to know it was a phone.

He held out his hand in warning.

"Dont," he said. And then went on, voice deep with pain, "Don't say anything. I need a room." He leaned against the counter and dug into his pocket for the money that Dean had given him, which was covered in blood. He placed it in front of the man, and he stared at it with wide eyes. "How much?" Castiel asked.

"Uh… um… N-nothing. Nope. Free. Y-you can have it for free. No charge. How many beds?"

"Two."

Castiel then considered adding another room onto this, but he figured his family would feel safer being all together where they could keep an eye on each other. Besides, he didn't need sleep.

The man turned around, and was visibly sweating, hands shaking and took a key off of a hook on the wall and gave it to Castiel.

"H-here you go, sir."

He nodded at him, and then trudged back outside. The rain hadn't let up, but he didn't care much for the weather. Jack moved as far away from him as possible when he got into the backseat, and guilt struck his stomach, even as anxiety seemed to tingle on his skin. He was going to have to talk to Sam and Dean soon, tell them what he knew about Jack's captivity.

"Jack, I'm sorry," he breathed, as Dean pulled into a parking spot.

He sensed his son's hurt, could feel it in the air so strongly it was suffocating - Castiel wondered how Sam and Dean were even breathing while such emotion radiated from someone they loved. Jack tilted his head, almost looked at him, almost met his gaze, then started picking at his fingers.

Castiel gently grabbed his wrist to stop him, noticing that he'd already scratched through the blood on his hand, and had gotten through the first layer of skin on the middle and pointer fingers of his left hand.

"Jack, it'll be alright."

He could tell Jack wanted to lean against him, wanted to pretend that his mistake had never happened, and Castiel wished he could take it back, that he hadn't thrown the blade, that Cael had not grabbed Anael, that he hadn't killed a mother and an unborn child. But he decided to tell himself that he'd killed a rapist. Yes, that's what he'd done. He'd killed someone who had hurt his son, nothing more. But that didn't take away how his son felt about it, and the corners of his eyes burned with tears knowing that Jack loved those who had defiled him.

Jack pulled away, and Castiel's words felt like a lie.

* * *

Jack looked so small to Sam. Once they got him inside they wrapped him in blankets they'd taken from their bags in the trunk, and they'd given him a bottle of water, which he seemed incredibly grateful for. No one had washed up yet, and they were all hovering over him, unsure of what to do, monitoring him. Even wrapped in his blankets, Sam still thought of his ribs he'd seen, the bony thinness of him. It was clear that Jack had barely eaten anything for a long, long time. His eyes were sunken and darkly sad, his face pale and tired, his hair lank and limp. The kid looked like he'd been touched by death, and anger burned in Sam like a fever, so much so that he could barely see straight.

But the fight was over. He'd wounded, he'd killed. It was time to take care of Jack now.

Sam didn't even care for his injuries, the lacerations, the bruises, the sprains and contusions he knew he had. He just cared about the boy who sat on the bed in front of him, slowly sipping at the water - he'd tried to drink it all in one go, but Sam had made him slow down.

"How ya feeling?" Sam asked him, wanting to make sure that he'd done everything he could. Jack didn't look to be injured, but he knew it wasn't always easy to tell.

Jack responded without looking him in the eye, "Tired."

"Are you hurting anywhere?" Sam asked. "You have any injuries you need me to check out?"

He shrugged.

Sam looked to Dean, and then to Castiel. What did that mean? Dean gave him an unhelpful look, and Castiel just shook his head to let him know that he'd taken care of it.

"Alright, kid, well you got Sam and Cas to look after you," Dean started, "so I'm gonna take a shower. I'm sure you don't like us being all gross."

Sam felt inadequate just sitting there at the table as Dean showered and Castiel paced and Jack finished off the water bottle. It wasn't right to just be doing nothing after he'd been working so hard to get him back. They had him back, and now there was clearly something wrong with him, but Sam didn't know how to address it. And why was Jack sad about Nathaniel's death? And Anael's? Had he seen Nathaniel die as he had Anael? Was it too much for him? Perhaps he'd grown close to his captors. Sam couldn't fathom it, but he knew such things could happen.

"Is this real?" Jack eventually asked.

That did it. Sam didn't know what it was, but it triggered something in him. He'd been being careful, wanting to play it safe, to not do anything unless he knew for certain he could do it without Jack accidently hurting him, but this boy needed him. In that moment, he forgot how dirty he was, forgot everything, and he went to Jack, and he wrapped him up in his arms. And Jack hugged him back.

"Yes, Jack, this is real," he breathed, finally realizing it as he held him.

This was real. He had his kid back. He wasn't okay, but he had him back, he was holding him, he was alive. He was his. Oh god, he was _his_. Sam was crying before he realized it, and then it was too late to stop it. Jack was crying with him.

"Sam, th-they made m-me for-forget you!" he yelled. "M-made me forget! They told me you were bad!"

Sam didn't know what Jack was talking about, and it hurt to hear more of what the angels had done, but he just held him. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay. I'm right here."

"They told me you were bad. All of you!"

Sam wanted to tell Jack not to worry about it, but he knew that was stupid and completely pointless. It wouldn't take away the fact that Jack was hurting from it, and it wouldn't take away his memories of it, wouldn't take away whatever else he was feeling from it.

"Hey, hey, hey… Shh… Shh… You're not with them anymore. We saved you. We got you out."

Sam hated what he was about to do, but he didn't know how else to reach Jack, and he seemed to have developed some form of Stockholm Syndrome, so he asked, "Now why don't you tell me about Nathaniel?"

Jack lifted up his head at that, which was now smeared brown and red, but he didn't seem to care.

"Really?"

Sam forced a smile onto his face and hoped it didn't look like a grimace; he felt like he was going to be sick.

"Yeah, really."

"Sam, I'm not sure-" Castiel began.

Sam held up a hand to cut him off, and then looked back at him, determination in his eyes.

"Cas said he was bad," Jack told him.

"He was," Sam answered carefully, not completely sure how to navigate this. He had a feeling trying to convince Jack of Nathaniel's wrongdoings would make him hurt more, or could turn him away from them. It might be something he had to find out for himself, through lots of careful contemplation. If only they had a therapist on hand. Maybe they could get in touch with Mia Vallens. Sam left that thought hanging and went on, "But people aren't all good or all bad. They're a mix of things."

"Are you?" Jack asked.

"Of course," Sam answered. "I've made mistakes, done some things that maybe I shouldn't have, and it's gotten people hurt. That makes me seem like a bad person to some people. But to you, and to my family, I've done good things, and that makes me a good person. And maybe I am, maybe I'm neither. Nathaniel… He…" Sam sighed. This was _not_ easy. To Sam Nathaniel _was_ a bad person, through and through, but shouldn't Anael have been as well? She'd also raped Jack. But there was more to her than that. It hurt to think that there could be more to a rapist than just the atrocity they'd committed, that there was an intelligent being behind the act, someone with reasoning, and purpose. "What he did, he had his reasons for it."

"So he hurt me?" Jack asked.

Sam swallowed roughly, and he looked back at Castiel, who had walked closer. He put a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder, and he felt strength from his friend's touch.

"Yes, he did," he answered honestly.

Jack shrugged. "Not all the time."

"Not all the time," Sam agreed, knowing it was true.

"And Anael?" Jack asked.

"She did too."

"But not all the time?"

"Not all the time," Castiel answered for him.

Sam really wished that Dean would get out of the shower and he could go and use the excuse of cleaning off to escape. Besides, everything about this was making him feel disgusting, straight through to his heart. The grime on the surface was just the beginning to the rot inside, and now it was in his son. Castiel squeezed his shoulder, as if he knew what Sam was thinking, and he breathed in deeply. None of this was going to be easy.

"Jack, you want something to eat?" Sam asked him, though he knew he was in no state to be handling food. Jack stared at his nose, hard, then slowly nodded. "Cas, can you get a Lunchables outta the cooler in the trunk? One of the ham and cheese ones."

After Castiel left, Sam asked his son, "You're not really hungry, are you?"

He huddled in on himself, shoulders lifting up as if he thought he had to protect himself. "Not really."

"It's okay. I get like that sometimes, too. The best thing to do is distract yourself when you're eating, so it doesn't seem like a big deal. And if it helps I'll leave 'cause between you and me I smell pretty gross." Sam said the last part like it was a secret just for the two of them, and Jack cracked a smile. He was picking at his fingers, and Sam frowned, gently grabbing at his hand. "Hey, you can't do that. You're gonna hurt yourself."

"Why does it matter?" Jack asked glumly.

"'Cause you're important," Sam said.

"Yeah, because Heaven needs me," Jack immediately responded, as if the words had been drilled into him.

Sam's breath caught in his throat, and a heavy feeling pounded against the inside of his chest. Castiel came in at that moment with the food, and he handed it to Jack, who opened the package, and slowly began to eat. Sam just stared at him, blinking away tears. By the time his thoughts caught up with reality, Sam realized it was far too late to say anything to Jack about what the angels had told him, and he was in too much shock to really form a sentence. He stood, and murmured to Castiel, "I'll be outside. Keep an eye on him, and let me know when Dean gets out of the shower."

Castiel grabbed Sam's arm as he started walking past, and he tried to continue walking, but his friend wouldn't let him, his strength far superior to his. Sam tilted his head, giving him a pleading gaze, knowing that he was very good with the puppy dog eyes when he wanted to be. His friend's expression fell, and he let him go, fingers brushing against his arm.

Maybe Sam had failed as a parent in that moment for not saying anything, but he didn't know what to say. It was true. To the angels, it was true. It made him want to tear his hair out and scream, claw at the ground till his nails were gone and blood ran from his fingers. Instead he suppressed that urge, and sat down outside the door, leaning his head back to look at the sky. Up there, past the rain, past the clouds, past the stars, into a realm that went beyond science, was Heaven, and angels who had sinned. He placed his palm on the wooden paneling beneath him, thought to down below, to the ground, the earth, the roots, and worms, and rock, and Hell, down to the Cage, to _him_. His ruin lay beneath, while his son's lay above. Yet both of them had to continue carrying on in the middle.

One day they would end up in one of those places, above or below, or even somewhere else for Jack, wherever it was that angels went. Sam didn't want to go to Heaven, not to a Heaven that would hurt a child. But he didn't want to go to Hell. Funny, he'd thought a lot about dying - it was hard not to after how many times he'd done it - but now he didn't want to, but he wasn't sure he wanted to live either. There didn't seem to be a single place he wanted to go where peace seemed like an option. Peace was a lie, something intangible and fleeting that always slipped from his wildly grasping fingers.

Jack was back, but now they had a new reality to face. Not for the first time, Sam found himself wondering if his life was real, if maybe it was some horrific dream that he would wake up from, and things would be okay. Maybe he was still in the Cage, and Earth was a fallacy. He felt as though he could reach out his hand and brush it all aside, like a curtain, and the true colors would shine through clearer and brighter.

The curtain didn't exist.

This was Sam's life.

Dizzy from it, he closed his eyes, waiting for Castiel to come get him.

* * *

Jack had finished off a Lunchables by the time Dean got out of the shower, and then it was Sam's turn to shower. He warned him it was a bit of a mess, but he seemed past caring. Castiel stopped Sam on his way by and healed him, and then he did the same for Dean.

"You didn't have to," Dean said to Castiel, now sitting at the table, watching Jack, who was lying down in the bed Sam had chosen for himself against the far wall. Dean had cleaned the blood off of the kid, who had stared at him with nothing in his eyes, and now he seemed to be settling down to get some sleep. "I know you're really drained. Save some of that mojo for yourself."

"I'm fine," the angel lied.

Dean pointedly looked at Castiel's arm, and went over to get the first aid kit.

"Come on, strip. Show me those lovely muscles," Dean teased.

He was exhausted and was ready to pass out, but he didn't mind tending to Castiel. And he wanted to keep an eye on Jack. The kid had scared him earlier. He had thought he was going to accidently kill them when they'd taken him away from the gate. It was weird not having Anael with them. Dean wasn't sure if he was sad about it. He hadn't precisely liked her. She'd been pretty, and she'd helped them rescue Jack in the end, but she was part of the reason their kid was so messed up. Dean wasn't sure how to feel about it.

But with the baby gone, there was no problem, right?

It was beyond obvious that it hurt Jack though.

"He's asleep, right?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded, as he stood to take his coat off, which was followed by his jacket.

"So the baby… Did he uh, did he know?"

"No." Castiel winced as he tried to undo his tie and unbutton his shirt.

Dean set the first aid kit down on the table and rushed over. "Here, let me help you.

He got the tie undone, and threw it over the chair before he set to work on the buttons. Dean's fingers worked quickly, wanting to get to the wound on Castiel's arm. Judging by the amount of blood that had soaked through all the way to his coat, whatever blade had stabbed him went deep. He had Castiel sit down, and then helped him get his left arm out of the sleeve. The wound was ugly, and through the red of lacerated muscle, Dean could see the white of tendon and bone.

"Buddy, you should've fucking said something," Dean told him.

It went all the way through his arm, and Dean felt as though he was going to be sick looking at it, simply from knowing that it was his friend's arm, and that he was in immense pain.

"We were in a battle, and Jack was more important."

Dean contemplated it a bit before informing him, "The best I can do is sew this sucker shut. Normally I'd wanna pack it, but you'd probably heal with the freakin' gauze inside, and I do _not_ wanna be the one to have to dig it back out." For a moment he leaned against Cas, and Cas put his head to his. "Crap," he groaned. "Wish I hadn't left the cooler in the trunk."

"Dean, don't worry, I brought the alcohol in," he responded, as if he'd read his mind.

"Oh, thank god," he breathed.

He stood and went to the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of beer and took a sip before passing it to Castiel. It looked like he wanted to object, but he started drinking like a dehydrated man. Dean clapped him on the shoulder.

"There we go, buddy."

Dean used his lighter to sterilize the curved needle he'd be using for the stitches, he threaded it, and then he set to work. Castiel held onto his leg as he did so, and Dean let him, actually liking his hand on his thigh.

"I heard your prayers," Castiel told him, voice gruff with pain.

Dean's cheeks colored, though it was common for him to pray to Castiel.

"Sorry for all the swearing."

"No, no. I like the swearing. It's you."

"Oh, well, in that case… Glad you're back, you little fuck."

"Dean, I'm actually quite large," his friend told him very seriously.

His cheeks colored more, and he swallowed roughly when he realized Cas' words could take on more than one meaning. He wondered if the angel even knew. He met his gaze and licked his lips.

"Y-yeah, I know."

Castiel stared at him hard, and then took a purposeful sip from the beer bottle.

Dean continued his work, trying to ignore that he was pretty sure he saw a bit of tendon glowing and stitching itself back together, twisting like some tiny vine come to life. And it was still immensely bloody, but he knew he couldn't die from blood loss.

"Dean, the things Jack went through-"

"Let's not talk about it."

"You don't know everything."

"Fine. Wait till Sam's here, or we're back at the bunker."

Castiel's grip on his leg tightened, thumb feeling as if it was going to bruise the inner part of his thigh, and Dean ignored the way it made his pulse jump, and met his gaze.

"What is it?"

"The things they did-"

"I know."

"No, you don't," he insisted.

Dean ran the needle and thread through his skin, pulling it tight, and then met his gaze, but found he couldn't hold it. How could he when his blue eyes were filling with tears?

"Anael said they did things, things that we don't want to know."

"I wish I didn't."

"How'd you find out?" Dean asked.

"Went through Nathaniel's head. What they did, it was his idea. It's… It's awful. And now every time I close my eyes I see Jack… I-I..." Castiel inhaled, his breath shaky and uneven.

Dean had finished stitching one of the holes in Castiel's arm, and he tied it off, and cut the thread. Then, he paused to hold his hand, intertwining their fingers.

"Hey, hey. Look at me," Dean intoned. When Castiel simply gazed upon their fingers, and how he held them with a white-knuckled grip, he went on, softening his tone, "Look at me. We got him back. Alright?"

Castiel's eyes met his, and Dean felt horror slide into his mouth and down into his stomach from what he saw there. This wasn't the trauma that Dean was used to talking about. This wasn't torture. This wasn't Hell. This was Heaven, inverted from how it should be, like Hell above, evils Dean wasn't sure he could imagine.

"Dean, what they did," he growled, "it's _not right_. And I… I just want to be there for him, but I messed up, I-I killed Anael, I killed their baby, and he hates me."

"He doesn't hate you."

"Yes, he does. Dean, he loved them, and I was the one who killed Anael, I was the one who dragged him away from their bodies."

Dean knew what Castiel meant by "he loved them". Their kid had Stockholm Syndrome. It was something he didn't even want to contemplate, something he couldn't make sense of, something they'd never dealt with before, and really, given how many times they'd been captured, it was surprising. Given the way Anael had talked about him there had been the opposite going on as well, whatever the hell that was called - Dean was going to have to look it up while he did some digging on all of this.

"Look, he just needs some time. Jack's a weird kid, but he ain't stupid. He knows it was an accident."

"That doesn't undo it. That doesn't erase it. She's still dead." Cas lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned into Dean, "His child is still dead."

Dean: "He doesn't even know, okay? Maybe we don't tell him, spare him this one thing, you know?"

"I don't know. It's all such a mess."

Dean agreed and set to work on his arm again. It was a little less gruesome now that he couldn't see right through it, but he had to have Castiel put it at a weird angle so he could reach it with the needle. And still, the angel kept a death grip on his thigh, even moving his hand up higher.

"Cas, Sam and I, we weren't this badly hurt. You could've used some of your juice on yourself."

He drank some more of the beer and grit his teeth as Dean dug the needle in. Oh yep, his thigh was bruising, but Dean wasn't sure he minded.

"It's fine."

"You're an idiot."

"That's because I spend too much time with you."

"Good. Then I expect your IQ to drop to the negatives."

Dean finished up, and bandaged the wound. He helped Castiel into one of his Metallica T-shirts, figuring he'd appreciate the clean clothing. The blood had gone down to his pants too, so he ended up just letting him borrow a pair of his sweatpants.

Sam eventually came out of the shower, woke up Jack to see if he wanted to switch to the other bed, but then the kid asked if he could stay with him. His brother turned to both of them, unsure of what to do. Dean lowered his eyebrows, and put his tongue between his teeth, as he thought it over.

"Please," Jack begged.

Sam shrugged, and then settled onto the bed with the kid, and Dean decided that was probably his cue to get to sleep as well.

He hugged Castiel hard, fists closed around the back of his shirt to hold him to him, and got a half-hug in return, hips pressing against his.

"You gonna be good on your own for a couple hours?" he asked, hand on his friend's cheek.

"Yeah, Dean. I'll watch over you. All of you."

"It's good to have you back."

When the lights were out, and the rain drummed on the roof, and Dean stared up at the dark ceiling, exhaustion clouded his mind and set weights upon his body. He sank far away from reality.


	24. Welcome Home

**A/N: WARNING: This chapter contains graphic depictions of self harm.**

* * *

It was dark, so completely and utterly dark that Jack couldn't see a thing, but he knew he was holding out his wrists. The chains had to be put back on.

"You were good today."

Duma.

"Why do you talk to him like that?" Cael asked.

There was no answer. The heavy chains were put on Jack's wrists, and they began to burn immediately. He started screaming, but there was no reaction from the angels. He pulled his hands up, trying to get at what was over his eyes, but there was nothing there. No cloth, no blindfold, just skin that he was clawing at, and he couldn't stop clawing. Cael's hand was on him, fingers crushing his shoulder.

"I'm not done with you," he said.

Jack tried to run, but then he was sinking through the floor.

Scratching at his eyes again.

There was something wet on his fingers. Curious, he brought them to his mouth. Blood. Angel blood.

Cael's hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not done with you."

Sinking through the floor.

Then he was lying down.

There were sensations he couldn't understand, a game the angels had told him about, something Nathaniel had come up with.

"I don't like this game!"

Jack's mind drew completely blank from the sensations bombarding him. Cael was laughing, Nathaniel was stroking his hair, trying to soothe him, Jack was screaming. They all ignored it. Blood poured from where his eyes were supposed to be.

Something was stolen from him.

A hand on his shoulder, a hand on his shoulder…

* * *

Jack screamed, and before his eyes were even open he heard incredibly loud thuds, like large bodies hitting furniture and walls before falling to the floor. The hand on his shoulder was blessedly gone, and he curled in on himself, crying into the dark, wondering if Nathaniel was going to come into the room and comfort him.

The air left him, as if he'd been punched in the stomach. Nathaniel lying, face up, eyes sightless and glassy, void of life. He wouldn't be going to him this night, or any night ever again.

The blanket was scratchy against his cheek, and he balled it in his fist, shaking, not breathing, trying to hold back his tears. He couldn't move, impossibly taken by fear. It gripped him at his spine, like hooks buried deep, metal wrapping around into his belly and his lungs, holding him in place. There was movement, and he opened his eyes, heart thudding wildly in his chest, hurting, whole body tingling, and he saw Dean and Castiel getting to their feet slowly, looking to be in pain. Movement behind him, Sam getting up.

"It's okay," Dean said, hands out to show he didn't have any weapons.

Jack stared at his hands, wondering what he was going to do with them.

"It's okay. Were you having a nightmare?"

Cael, the Room, his eyes, the blood.

Jack wanted to nod, but he couldn't move. Sam came around slowly, so that he could see him, keeping one hand pressing at the edge of the bed, so he could feel the pressure, know that he was there, that he was moving and wouldn't startle him. Jack could barely breathe.

Had he thrown them? Had he hurt his family?

He must've.

That's why he'd run away.

That's how the angels had gotten him.

"I-I-I'm sorry," he forced out through frozen lips that didn't want to move.

"No, no," Castiel said. "It's okay."

Jack wanted to argue, but the nightmare still had its clutches on him. He could feel it crawling up his back, like icy fingers trying to get inside. It wrapped around his skull, cradling it. Maybe if he closed his eyes it wouldn't see him, he could hide, but it had him.

Sam's voice broke through the black in his mind, "Jack, you have to breathe."

He whimpered in response.

"Hey, I've been there," Sam told him, approaching, hands out.

Jack didn't believe him. He didn't know, he hadn't seen. Not even Castiel knew.

"You're scared, you feel like you can't move, and you feel like if you do something's gonna attack you, right? But there's nothing here that's gonna hurt you. It's just us."

Jack wasn't sure he believed them. It felt like there was someone else there, something else…

A movement, and it'd get him.

It'd take him away again.

He'd lose his family forever.

Sam came closer, and knelt down in front of him, and Dean and Castiel got close to each other, hands touching.

"Try breathing with me," Sam said. "Inhale." He inhaled deeply, making it obvious he was doing so, and all Jack could do was watch him do it. "Exhale." Again, he made it clear that was what he was doing.

This time when Sam instructed Jack to do so, he did it with him, and he tensed even further, muscles protesting and aching. He'd moved. The angels were going to get him. His vision started tunneling, and he couldn't breathe, or maybe he was breathing too quickly, he couldn't tell.

"Hey, look at me. It's alright. Pick a part of my face to focus on, and just look at that. It can be my nose, maybe my eyes, my forehead, come on, just stay here with me."

The words barely reached Jack, but he listened to them. He wasn't sure how he did it, but he looked at Sam's eyes, that color-changing hazel that was sincere and kind and hurt. Father. Yes, that's what he saw there, the reason that Jack had mistaken Sam for Castiel when he'd first seen him. This man was as much his parent as Castiel was. But Jack couldn't think of Castiel right now because when he did he thought of Anael dead, thought of the baby…

A tear fell from one eye, and he whimpered.

"Okay, it's okay. Deep breaths. Let's try again. Inhale."

Jack did so, even though it felt like there was an iron grip on his chest.

"Exhale."

Again, he listened to Sam.

His dad - yes, that's what he was, it's what Dean was too - kept talking him through it, until he felt like he could move again. Sam held out his hand, and Jack took it. He helped him sit up.

"There we go. You're good, you're alright."

"Did I hurt you?" Jack asked.

"Don't worry about it, kid," Dean said, now sitting on his bed, Castiel next to him.

"Yeah, we're fine," Sam told him. "Been hurt a lot worse than what you just did. You couldn't help it."

"I don't want to hurt you," Jack said slowly, forcing himself to look all of them in the eye for at least a second. He couldn't hold it, and crossed his legs, bowing his head. "I don't mean to hurt you."

"Jack," Castiel began.

He shook his head, not wanting to hear it.

Still, his father kept talking, "What's hurting us is seeing you hurting, and that's not your fault."

"But I ran away."

"Yes, you did," he responded, "but you were scared, and we failed you in that moment. Do you understand? What happened to you, it's not your fault."

Jack didn't know why, but he felt awful from Castiel's words, and he wanted them to feel awful too, or understand even a little bit, so he simply said, "I miss them. Not all of them. But Tamiel was okay, same with Ariel." There was a pregnant silence afterwards in which it was clear that he wanted to mention Nathaniel, and Anael, but he didn't.

"It's gonna take some time to adjust," Sam said. "You were in a different place, with different people, on a different schedule. Believe it or not, we all know what that's like, having to make that adjustment. Time's gonna make it easier."

"What if time just makes it worse?"

Sam frowned, and asked, curious, "How would it make it worse?"

Jack shrugged. "They'll stay dead."

"Can I hold your hand?" Sam asked.

Confused, Jack looked at Castiel, and he nodded. He held out his hand for Sam to take, which he gripped strongly, and then he placed his other hand over it.

"We've lost people, too, Jack. Some days it's not so bad, and others it's really gonna hurt, might even feel like you're losing them all over again. That's when you seek out the people that you care about, and they can make you smile. They'll have your back. You don't even have to tell 'em what's wrong if you don't want to. Dean and Cas have been there for me more times than I can count. Most days I don't even think they know I'm having a hard time," - Jack looked to them to see what they thought of this, but it was hard to read them, though he smelled some sort of prickly emotion from them - "but they're still there for me. And we're here for you.

"I know things happened that you don't understand, and things happened that you don't like, and I know you're mad at Cas. But we're here for you, all of us. Okay? We're a family, and that means we don't leave each other behind, we don't just stop taking care of each other even though it'd be easy. This is gonna be hard, but look at it like this, you already got through your worst day."

There were tears in Sam's eyes, but he smiled at him, and it was genuine. Jack didn't know how it was, and he wanted to be as strong as him.

Sam gripped his hand hard, maybe to be reassuring, and then he stood and pat him on the shoulder.

"You want to go back to sleep?" Castiel asked.

Jack shook his head.

"Okay, it's the middle of the night," Dean said, "but the storm's passed. If you want, you can get cleaned up and we can start heading home."

Home.

What was home?

Jack thought maybe it was supposed to be the bunker.

But Dean said _home_ and there was a flash of white in his head, a bed with immaculate sheets.

And the thought of getting cleaned up by himself was strange. He was used to bath time with Nathaniel. Sure, he could clean up on his own, couldn't he? He'd learned that skill. But it was routine. After playtime, Nathaniel cleaned him. After the Room, Nathaniel cleaned him.

Jack hadn't had playtime, why would he need to be cleaned?

"But I haven't had playtime," he argued.

Everything in the room seemed to freeze, his dads stopped breathing, their faces going pale.

"Jack," Dean began carefully, "we're not gonna do that."

"But-"

"No buts," he told him, voice stern, simmering with sickness and hurt. "We'll talk about it later."

Jack just hunched in on himself, not understanding why the tone in the room had grown so cold, and he started picking at his fingers.

"Hey, hey, hey," Sam reprimanded quickly, reaching out for his arm gently. "What did we talk about with that?"

"You told me to not do it because I'm important."

"Yes."

"Heaven needs me."

"No," Sam argued.

Sam smelled like he was lying, and Jack frowned at him.

Sam sighed, and Castiel approached. Jack shied away from him, retreating to the far corner of the bed. Dean held his father back, and then tried coming forward.

"Look, kid, it's not about that, okay? This is gonna sound harsh, but forget Heaven for a second. I don't care about those douchebags up there in the sky. I care about you, and we don't want you hurting yourself. We're your parents, okay? So your safety matters to us, but not because of some greater purpose. It's because you're our kid, plain and simple. You're not needed for anything, but whatever it is you want to do. You're needed for nobody but your damn self. You got that?"

Jack didn't know what to say. Heaven needed him. Did they not understand that? It wasn't as if they could change that fact. The angels needed him for their games. Were they trying to make sure he didn't hurt himself so he could be kept nice for the angels?

"Jack, I don't care what they told you up there," Dean said. "Hurting yourself, that's not good."

"Why?"

Didn't he deserve it for hurting them? Besides, it gave him something to do, and at least when he picked the skin from his fingers it made him feel something.

"Because I'm important?" he asked, challenging them.

"We all matter," Dean argued, pointing at everyone in the room. "All of us, and that includes you. No one has to serve a purpose to matter. You were born, you exist, that makes you important enough for us. So you don't hurt yourself, understand? You get the urge you… you… You come talk to one of us, okay?"

Jack nodded his head, doing his best to understand what Dean was talking about.

"Good boy."

Dean ruffled his hair, and Jack leaned into it, almost smiling.

"Now get cleaned up. Sam'll get you something to eat after, and then we'll be on our way. How's that sound?"

"That sounds… good," Jack said, realizing it was true. "But-"

Cas cut him off, words pained for a reason that he couldn't understand, "There'll be no playtime."

"You can use my soap and shampoo," Sam said, drawing everyone away from the moment. "Left 'em in the shower."

Dean handed him some clothes, saying they'd probably be a bit too big, but they'd be comfortable and warm, and then Jack went into the bathroom.

It was strange to be alone, strange to be under running water. The last time he'd had a shower had been in Nathaniel's house.

It'd been a long time since Jack had contemplated his body. It seemed like such a human thing for him to do, but now that the angels had touched it so much, he wasn't sure. He was thin, that much he knew. Was it because he hadn't been eating? Maybe. But there were still things Jack didn't understand about it. Why did he feel the things he did when he was with his playmates? Why did his body respond in the way that it did?

Feeling odd that he'd been instructed to clean himself when he saw no reason for it, Jack curiously put his hand down in between his legs. Maybe he didn't need another person for this. Though, there couldn't be any bouncing or rolling around or kissing and that didn't seem like much fun. Still, there was something in him telling him to do it, some part of him that had grown used to it. It didn't make sense to him why his dads didn't want him to do it. Why had they kept it from him?

So Jack replicated how the angels had touched him, and as he did so he missed Anael. It wasn't fair. He hadn't gotten to spend enough time with her. It felt as if he'd only just met her, and then she had left, and then things had gotten worse. Her departure had brought his pain. He missed her smile, the feel of her skin against his, rolling around on the bed with her, being inside of her - however that worked.

No, Jack didn't need to think about that now, didn't need to be confused. Yes, what he was doing with his hand felt nice, but it wasn't Anael's hand, and it wasn't the way her insides had hugged him, wasn't the way he had gotten them to convulse that one time in the Garden. She had cried afterwards. He remembered that, remembered wiping her tears away, remembered how she'd smiled at him, so sad. Why had she been so sad?

No, that didn't matter. Jack squeezed a little harder, let the hot water run over his shoulders. He bit his bottom lip, holding his hand out, and pressed it up against the wall, fingers curling. He didn't want to feel the tile wall, wanted to feel Anael's hair running through his fingers, wanted to grab hold and tug her head back so he could kiss her deeply. He whined in distress.

She wasn't here!

She never would be again.

It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair.

Jack didn't know how Sam did it, how any of them did it.

Jack let go of himself, and lifted his hands up over his head, leaning his forehead against the wall. It was no use, not without someone else, not without Anael, or even Nathaniel.

Nathaniel had been good, knew exactly what to do with his mouth. Jack shivered thinking about it, but then a sob wanted to come loose, tumble past parted lips that could barely get air in.

He slammed his fist against the wall, shattering tile, and in no time at all, there was a knock on the door.

"Go away," he growled out.

"Hey, Jack, it's just me," Dean said. "You alright?"

"No," he answered glumly.

"You don't need me to come in there, do you?" he asked, sounding incredibly reluctant.

"No."

Besides, Jack was embarrassed for having smashed part of the shower. Despite the way the Room had been draining him, he hadn't realized he'd had such strength left in him. He brushed the tile aside, ignoring the grime that was on it, and tried to just continue showering.

 _It doesn't matter that I haven't had playtime._

 _I can have playtime later._

Yes, that sounded good. Later.

Though, he didn't know who to ask. It wasn't as if any of the angels were around.

But they'd hurt him somehow, so maybe thinking of it wasn't good.

He did his best to clean himself on his own, missing Nathaniel's hands and the way he'd praise him and tell him he was a good boy. Jack didn't know who to blame for that. For Anael he knew to blame Castiel, or maybe he could blame Cael. But for Nathaniel he didn't know. It'd been too chaotic. Perhaps what his father had said was right - a lot did happen in battle.

The part of Jack's mind that favored reasoning was okay with that, but the part of him that was hurt didn't. Who could he be mad at but Castiel? There was no one else. Cael was dead. Oh, he was dead. Jack's legs were weak with relief at the thought. He could almost remember the times he'd been in the Room with Cael. He'd liked it. He just knew it. The angels, they'd tried to tell him they were his family, but they'd lied. Why had they lied?

Jack's head didn't know what to do with that thought, and he went in downward spirals, down, down, faster and faster until he wanted to scream, and then he felt nothing. He finished showering, missing Nathaniel's hands and soft words, and then when he stood with the towel about him, looking at the counter, he found something interesting.

Jack held it up, too empty to feel unnerved by what his head was considering doing with it, and he put the razor to the inner part of his right arm. Without any hesitation he sliced in, and the blades slid deep, but he barely felt it. Blood dripped into the sink, red and hot. The cuts healed, skin sewing itself shut. Jack sliced again, wondering how deep he had to get to feel something. Still nothing, maybe a slight sting, a hint of soreness, pressure, the heat of his blood running over his flesh.

He healed once more.

Perhaps the soft, almost liquidy, sound of the blade going into his skin should've disturbed him, but it didn't. It actually reminded him of when he'd been stabbing himself with that knife that Dean had taken away from him.

Then Jack felt something, a heavy feeling in his gut. Perhaps he shouldn't be doing this.

Another knock on the door.

"You okay?"

Sam.

Jack looked down, at the wound that was closing, the blood that ran from his arm, down his hand, and into the sink, a vibrant crimson that clashed with the dingy white.

He wanted to say something, but only some sort of moan left him. That must've been a cue to his dad to come in because he did, opening the door slowly. He frowned, not at the fact that Jack wasn't dressed, but at the mess of blood.

"Whoa, Jack!"

He rushed to him, and took the razor from his hand, quickly throwing it in the trash. He took the towel from around his shoulders and wet it before wiping the blood off of his arm.

"You gotta come get us when you're feeling like that," Sam said.

Jack shrugged with one shoulder as his dad continued to rub at his arm.

"I didn't know I was going to do it," he explained. "I wasn't feeling anything."

"What's going on?" Dean asked, poking his head in.

Sam tilted his head at him, which must've been a signal for him to get out, because he did, and Sam kicked the door closed. He sat on the toilet seat, and then held out Dean's clothes for Jack to get into. "Here."

He started to get dressed, and tears sprung to his eyes when he realized he missed the clothes he had gone to Heaven in. The angels had taken those, and he'd never see them again.

"Sam, can I get new clothes?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

Sam helped him with the ties on the sweatpants and made sure they were pulled tight enough, and he rolled up the bottoms so that he wouldn't be tripping over them, and then he helped him with the shirt. Sam huffed a laugh upon seeing it, and then showed it to Jack. It was a light blue and depicted a cartoon baby chicken getting picked up by a hand, with the words " _HOW TO PICK UP CHICKS_ " stamped into it. Jack didn't understand the humor in it, but forced a smile onto his face, and took the shirt and put it on. It was big on him, hanging off of one shoulder, and going down past his hips.

Sam then sat him down on the toilet seat, and he dried the edge of the bathtub before taking a seat.

"I know you heal fast, really fast, and maybe injuries don't hurt you like they'd hurt us, but maybe, I don't know, maybe next time you feel nothing, try… try distracting yourself," Sam suggested.

"Distracting myself?"

He shrugged, as if he wasn't too sure himself. It didn't give Jack a lot of confidence.

"I can get you a coloring book, some crayons, blank pieces of paper. Maybe scribbling could make you feel better. One of us could even do it with you so you don't have to be alone."

Jack looked away from Sam, and picked at a piece of lint that was on the T-shirt. This all made him feel like a child. But wasn't he a child? Wasn't that what he was supposed to be? Had the angels taken that from him? Or had they given it to him? He didn't know anymore.

"Sam, I'm…" Jack paused, realized he didn't know the word for what he was feeling. It was deep, in his chest, his gut, heavy, and hot, yet cold and tingly on his skin. It made him want to disappear.

"How about I throw out words and you see how they feel?"

Jack nodded.

They did that for a bit, Sam explaining different words to him, but nothing felt right. Jack gave up after awhile, not sure there was a word for what he was feeling, but Sam promised they would try later. He combed his fingers through Jack's hair quickly, getting the knots out, just like Nathaniel used to, and then he gripped his shoulders tight.

"I'll go get your food ready."

* * *

Jack ended up eating another one of those packages that he'd been given the first time, with the meat, crackers, cheese, candy, and juice. He went at it slowly, so slowly in fact that he finished it in the backseat while Dean drove them home. Sam had given him another bottle of water, and he held the end in his mouth for awhile, absentmindedly sucking on it. His father sat beside him, also wearing Dean's clothes.

The ride was quiet, too quiet, and Jack found himself growing anxious. He wanted to get up and walk around, especially when the sun came up. He yearned for the Garden, for all the plants that he didn't know the names of, and the streams, and the fountains, and the glistening lights in the trees.

They stopped somewhere for breakfast, and Jack didn't like it. He got a seat by the window and was smushed in against Dean, where no one else could get him. Sam was across from him. Jack didn't know what to eat for breakfast, had lost the concept of normal meals, so he was disappointed when Dean ordered him a bacon and egg sandwich with a side of sliced peaches. The glass of milk wasn't bad though. Sam had tried to be thoughtful and get him hot chocolate, but one sip of it and Jack was sure he was going to wake up blindfolded. At least Jack didn't feel so bad about not finishing his meal because whatever he didn't finish, Dean finished for him, and he was too stuck in his own head to notice if anyone gave them weird looks. Jack knew he was too skinny, knew that he looked as though something was wrong with him.

Something _was_ wrong with him.

He'd been used, and he didn't even know how.

* * *

The whole trip was dreadful. Jack wanted to stretch his legs, wanted to play, wanted to walk, wanted to go back to Heaven and see the Garden one last time. But he was stuck in a car for two days.

His dads kept a close eye on him so he didn't hurt himself again, and they kept checking up on him. Maybe they expected him to cry. Jack expected himself to cry. But he didn't. Mostly, he felt like he was stuffed full of cotton, and like if someone pressed on his skin he wouldn't feel it. He hoped he wouldn't have to go through the rest of his life feeling like this.

Then, after eighteen hours and thirty-five minutes of driving, Jack saw a familiar sight: the bunker. Paralyzed, he was unable to get out of Dean's car.

"Jack, come on," Castiel urged gently, lightly tugging at his sleeve - Jack was now wearing one of Dean's plaid shirts, the sleeves rolled up where Dean's elbows would've been, so they were still long on Jack.

Could this really be it? After all this time was he actually home?

No. No, this was another trick. The angels were in his head, trying to keep him calm so they could use him for something. That's what this was. It had to be.

He shook his head, clutching hard at his water bottle.

"Jack, it's alright," his father told him.

He felt as if he'd been hearing those words a lot.

"Trick," he said.

"No, Jack, it's not a trick."

"What's the problem?" Dean asked, opening Jack's door to lean down and talk to him.

"It's a trick," he responded.

"No, this… this is real. It's all real."

Jack shook his head again.

"Alright, alright," Dean said soothingly.

He stood, and whistled. Sam came over from where he'd been getting the bags out of the trunk.

Dean whispered, "We got a situation."

"Dean, he can hear you," Castiel said.

Sam knelt down by him now. "Hey, buddy, what's up?"

"This isn't real."

"Here," Sam offered, holding his hand out to him. "Pinch me."

Jack slowly did as he said, testing how his skin felt. It seemed real enough, but the angels were good. Very good.

They were just trying to keep him compliant for the Room.

"Real, right?" Sam asked, then pinching himself to show him.

Another shake of his head.

"Okay, what do we gotta do to prove to you that this is real?"

"Don't take me to the Room," he begged.

Sam inhaled sharply, smelling of confusion, and then he stood. He must've done some silent form of communication because then all three of his dads wandered off aways, leaving him in the car by himself. Jack could still hear them, though they spoke in hushed tones.

"What's the Room?" Sam asked.

"It's where they…" Castiel began, but trailed off, heaving out a sigh.

"Yes?" Dean prompted.

"Look, I'll explain later," Castiel said. "But it's not good. What they did to him in there, it shouldn't be done to anybody, and if he thinks that's where we're taking him now, he's not going to cooperate."

"How do we convince him we're not taking him there?" Sam asked. "Does he even know what happened to him?"

"I don't know, but he's scared. Maybe one of us can go in first, video call him, and show him all the rooms in the bunker. He'll see that we don't have anything that'll hurt him."

"Cas, that's stupid," Dean pointed out. "We have an armory."

"No, I mean, we don't have what they had."

"Oh," he said, but didn't seem to get it.

Sam volunteered, "I'll do it. It could work. If not, we'll try something else."

His dads reconvened around him, and Jack chewed on the end of the water bottle - which had become a nervous habit of his - to pretend he hadn't been listening.

Dean handed him his phone, and Sam held his out, as he explained what he was going to do. Jack looked at the phone in his hand, considering it. He shook his head, and put the phone back in Dean's hands.

"You could be hiding it," he said.

"Hiding what?" Dean asked.

Jack didn't know, so he just shrugged.

"How about this?" Sam asked. "What would the angels _not_ do if they were trying to trick you?"

"Um…" Jack looked out of the car, finding the leaves on the ground incredibly interesting. There was a brown one, half-crushed by Sam's foot, the edges pointed and brittle. A few holes were in the leaf, closer to the stem, and some part of Jack wanted to rip it apart. "They made me happy when they were tricking me. Only happy."

"Are you happy now?" Dean asked.

"I don't know."

Jack was too frightened to be happy, too confused.

This couldn't be the bunker. It couldn't be. This wasn't his home, this wasn't where he belonged. The angels were just messing with him. It was impossible to have escaped. Impossible.

"Do you feel anything you have no control over?" Castiel asked. "I know what it's like getting inside people's head, and I know what it's like to have it done to you. Do you feel wrong, like you're fighting something?"

"I… I feel like I'm fighting myself."

"But no one else?" Sam asked.

"No one else."

"Okay, that's something, right?" Dean said, clearly hopeful.

Still unsure, Jack said nothing.

"We can try that video call thing," Sam suggested again. "We're not hiding anything. Promise. No secret rooms, nothing we're gonna hurt you with. Alright? You wanna feel my hand again?"

Jack nodded, and Sam held out his hand. He squeezed Sam's fingers, felt their solidity, and decided they were real enough. Then he took Dean's phone.

Castiel and Dean stayed with him while Sam gave him a tour of the bunker over the phone. He was tense the entire time, body nearly aching, and Dean had his arm around him, pulling him against his side, to watch the tour with him, which kept him somewhat relaxed.

"See?" Sam finished with a smile, near the entrance again. "All clear. So you ready to come in?"

Jack nodded, and found that he could barely breathe, excitement pounding at his chest.

Sam finished, saying words he had thought he would never hear in his life since his captivity, words he thought he'd never hear from him, or any of his family, "Welcome home, Jack."


	25. Grown Up Things

**A/N: This chapter mentions an angel named Izuriel. I think Castiel mentioned him in 14x09 "Byzantium" and he was killed by the Empty. I decided to give that name to the angel that Sam sliced open from collarbone to pelvis in the chapter where they rescued Jack.**

 **WARNING: This chapter contains thoughts of self-harm.**

* * *

The best thing about the bunker was that it was large, open space. Heaven hadn't been that. The halls had been closed off, small, the rooms suffocating, but this, this was something he'd missed. Sam was standing by the table at the war room, arms spread out, left side of his mouth turned up in a smile. His eyebrows were raised, almost as if he expected something. Not sure what he wanted, but liking the high, vaulted ceilings, Jack leaned over the rail, and shouted, "Hello!" listening to his voice bounce off the stone and tile walls and echo back to him.

Jack ran down the stairs ahead of his dads and bowled into Sam, giving him a hug, then when Dean was down the stairs he also gave him a hug. So caught up in the moment, Jack even gave one to Castiel, for the time being ignoring the bitter taste of grief on his tongue, the hollowness in his chest.

"Jack, you mind going to your room for a bit?" Sam suggested. "We gotta talk about some grown up things. It's just boring stuff, nothing you'd wanna hear."

A lie, a nervous one, but there was warmth there, so after some hesitation, Jack listened to him.

His room. When he pictured his room he pictured a white bed with Nathaniel in it, but the image soon faded, and the sharp ache of disappointment took him over, grief punching a hole through him. Jack's room didn't have much in it; he hadn't had a lot of time to make it his own. His laptop was there, along with his headphones, still left on the bed - he couldn't even remember what he'd been planning on using them for. Jack sat on the bed, not bothering to take his shoes off, and picked up the picture of Kelly he kept on his nightstand. Castiel had gotten the picture for him, and had helped him pick out the frame. He ran his fingers over her face, wanting to feel skin, wishing he could see her smile like that in real life, but he'd ruined it. He'd killed her, and now she knew the awful things he'd done, even if he didn't.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he whispered.

Jack placed the picture down, and then opened up his laptop. The battery was dead, so then he spent some time shuffling around in his desk looking for the charger, and plugging it in. It was strange doing this much. In Heaven things were done for him, or there was nothing to do at all. But here he had his own things, what little he did have. There was even a book on his desk that Sam had left for him, thinking maybe he'd be interested in it, _The Hobbit_ by J. R. R. Tolkien.

He hadn't really ready in awhile, wondered if he still knew how to do it like he used to. He turned on his lamp, and flipped open to the first page. The book was worn, showing it'd been used for awhile, and that perhaps Sam favored it.

Jack read slowly, out loud, "In a hole in a ground… there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole… filled with the ends of worms… and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole... with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat; it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort…"

The talk of holes didn't interest Jack much, and he thought maybe he could pick apart from his scattered and bruised memories what a hobbit was, but this seemed like too much work at the moment. Maybe it'd come to him later; he knew he knew it. Part of him wanted to throw the book, and he didn't know why, but what would Sam say? So he ignored that part of himself, and set it down.

What could his dads even be talking about? Grown up things? What grown up things? Jack had a horrible, dreadful feeling that it had to do with him. He considered sneaking out of his room to listen in on what they were saying, but wouldn't that be wrong?

The door was open though. An open door meant he was free to leave.

Jack went to the doorway, and stood before it, ready to place his foot out, and he peered into the empty hallway. No, it didn't feel right. He wasn't allowed to leave. He needed chains to leave, and there was no one to put the chains on.

So Jack sat on his bed, deciding to wait.

* * *

Duma was standing before the throne, arms crossed as she contemplated it. It had been too long since anyone had sat in it. Her hope had been that perhaps one of Jack's children could take their rightful place upon it, but now he was gone and his child was dead before they'd even been born. Anael was dead, Nathaniel was dead, Cael was dead, Izuriel was dead, Indra was dead, and many were still wounded. She herself still had to heal, had to let her Grace strengthen and replenish. The strikes against them had taken too much. She knelt down on the floor, hands on her lap. The lights dimmed, plunging her into darkness that maybe she deserved, as she looked up.

They still had a store of a careful mixture of the Nephilim's seed and Grace, but pushing ahead so soon after their losses seemed foolish, risky. Ariel was willing, but she always had been, right from the start.

She thought of Sam's words, of him yelling of the child they'd hurt. But didn't he see? Heaven was dying.

Or maybe it had been dying for a long time, because of them.

" _What is Heaven worth if you'll rape a child to save it?_ "

"Father," she called out, not even sure if God was listening, but not knowing what else to do. It stayed dark, quiet, just her. "Father, please, we need your help. Heaven is dying, and I'm afraid… I'm afraid we've made a mistake. There was this boy, you see, not very old, only a few months, but his body, his body could provide for us, and it did. We have what we need from him. We could still use it, but… but I don't know what to do. Many have fallen trying to get him, trying to keep him, and we've lost him. The humans have taken him back. Maybe they're right to."

Silence met her, and she thought that was the only appropriate response. She hadn't asked a question, hadn't demanded anything of Him. Was He even listening? Was He listening and rejoicing at having left? Was He listening and weeping at their mistakes? Were they mistakes?

"Father, I don't know if what I've done is wrong. I'm trying to lead Heaven as best I can, but many of our number are dead, the archangels are gone, you are gone, it's empty and alone up here, and without my efforts the souls will fall to Earth, and fall into vengeance and despair. Humanity will suffer like never before. They are your creation, do you not care for them? Are they not your children?" she demanded. "They will die in numbers that will exceed that of the Apocalypse! The world will burn, and perish! And the souls, the souls will know nothing but torment. You made something better than that, better than Hell. You _proved_ that there can be a better way, that there is more to life and existence than Lucifer's failings, but now, now there won't be. Soon, there will be just Hell, and the ruin of Earth. How can you let that be your creation? How can you let that be your legacy? Is that your pride and joy? Is that all you've amounted to? A failed Heaven, and a failed Earth, with failed creations all fighting and suffering and dying? And for what? So you can sit up there wherever you are and watch? Is that it? You like watching? Well, _I_ do not. I do not like watching, sitting by helpless, so please, just give me _something_!"

The only answer she got was her voice echoing back to her.

Duma cried, wondering if she'd failed, wondering if, in older days, she would be cast from Heaven. Her wings ached at the thought, and she curled them around herself. The throne room stayed dark, the throne empty, hope lost.

* * *

"So what grown up conversation is this?" Dean asked, slinging his coat over a chair and taking a seat. "The when do we get Mom back conversation? The what do we tell Jack conversation?"

"Dean, Mom-" Sam began.

"Is still in Apocalypse World," he interrupted. "Jack can get her out."

Dean knew that there was more to the kid than that, much more, but it'd been so long. Who knew if she was even still alive, or what she'd even had to endure? Well, maybe Sam knew a bit about it. Dean shuddered at the thought. But was it so bad he was thinking about it? Jack was safe now. Mom wasn't.

"What, so you think someone can bounce back from something like that just like that?" Sam asked, raising his voice, and snapping his fingers for emphasis.

"No, I don't expect the kid to come in here and start making portals, I don't even expect him to get a good night's sleep or-or act like a normal freaking kid. Just thought I'd throw it out there that's it not all peachy, and the family's not all back together."

"Wel, it wasn't that long ago when you didn't even want him part of the family," Sam argued.

"Really, you're gonna bring that shit up?" Dean threw out. "He's dangerous!"

"So am I!"

"Enough!" Castiel shouted at the both of them. "We didn't get him back just so you two could be at each other's throats. As you would say we have bigger fish to fry."

Dean ran a hand over his face, and let out a deep breath, trying to cool down.

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. Sorry, been on the road awhile, and this…"

He couldn't finish. It was rough, that's what this was.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, clearly understanding what it was he hadn't said.

"So what do we do?" Dean asked.

"Well, perhaps he should know what sex is," Castiel supplied.

"And consent," Sam quickly added.

"So we do that at the same time, or…?" Dean asked.

Sam swallowed roughly, and drummed his fingers on the table before saying, "Like, just explain rape?"

Dean grimaced at the word, and Sam and Cas were doing the same. But for some reason it sounded heavy on his brother's tongue. Something from a few years ago tried to come to mind, something Sam said about Lucifer touching him, but Dean brushed it aside, not able to think about it.

"Maybe we should let him lead," Castiel suggested. "I'm not confident he remembers everything about his captivity. The things they did were rather traumatizing."

"What things?" Dean asked, a morbid curiosity tugging at his gut.

"I don't…" Castiel frowned. "I don't really have the words for it."

Sam: "Describe it."

Cas shook his head, and if he was human, Dean though he'd look as if he was about to puke. "No, I don't think I can."

"Was it… Was it part of the rape?" Sam asked.

"I think so," Castiel got out. "It's hard to make sense of."

"So we tell him he got raped, tell him what the word means," Dean said, "then what? He's not gonna know what to do with that. He doesn't even know how any of that works. But if we tell him about sex first, do you think he's gonna get why what happened to him is bad?"

"No," Castiel told them reluctantly. "When I was their prisoner, Nathaniel… Well, he tried to help Jack and I escape and we got caught. Nathaniel got put in the cell next to me. I guess Jack took a liking to him because in order to get him to cooperate they'd bring him to Nathaniel. I… I had to listen to it."

Dean reached out across the table and took Cas' hand, not even able to imagine how gut-wrenchingly horrible that must've been.

Cas held on tight, and continued, "I tried to get Jack to stop, to tell him it was bad, but he… he didn't understand."

Sam was making a bunch of faces that Dean couldn't read, but he was clearly thinking very hard, and then he scratched at the back of his head before boldly asking, "So he raped Nathaniel?"

Castiel frowned, clearly having not considered it before.

"I don't know. Consent to angels is… different than it is for humans."

"Oh, I know," Sam heaved out.

He got up, and started heading out of the room.

"Dude, where ya going?" Dean asked.

"I need a drink," his brother grumbled, and then he was stomping off to the kitchen.

"Get me one!" he called.

Dean either wanted to lean back and run both his hands over his face or take Castiel's other hand, so he settled for the one that'd comfort him more, and his friend squeezed.

"What the fuck?" Dean muttered, not so much a question, but more of a statement. "How'd you even get through it?" he asked of Castiel's own imprisonment.

"I don't think I did," he answered, blue eyes on their hands; he'd started fiddling with Dean's fingers. "I just remember looking at the wall a lot. There was… It looked like there was this face in the wall, screaming." He sighed and shook his head. "It just stood out to me. Maybe my mind was trying to find something else to focus on. I tried to reason with Jack. For some of his captivity he couldn't talk. I think it's because of what they did to him, it… it just hurt too much."

Dean nodded. He'd seen people go psychologically mute before. It'd even happened to him for a short time after he'd run out of their burning house with Sam in his arms.

"We'll knock some sense into him," Dean assured.

"Maybe Sam could."

"Why Sam?"

Castiel shrugged, eyes going to his lips before completely averting his gaze. Dean didn't like it, but Sam was coming back now anyway, and he had a bottle of scotch and three glasses.

He poured one out for each of them, and they took long drinks, before continuing the discussion.

"Why don't I talk to him?" Sam suggested. "I can try after dinner, get him some nougat, maybe some pieces of paper to scribble on if he gets upset…"

"What're you gonna tell him?"

"Guess he's gotta know what rape is, and maybe he'll just wanna talk. I don't mind listening."

"You are the better listener out of the three of us," Castiel agreed.

"So after dinner?"

"Yeah, after dinner," Sam decided.

"Great, well I'll head out to the store, and then I'll get cooking."

* * *

Jack had had to wait some time before anyone came to get him. It was Castiel. Jack just looked away, and without thinking, held out his wrists. His father didn't put any chains on him, and told him it was time for dinner. Jack didn't believe him and thought maybe he was going to be taken to the Room. So Dean ended up bringing dinner to him, which was something he'd cooked up special: slices of potato wrapped in bacon, chicken tenders, and some green vegetable Jack didn't know the name of. Dean stayed with him and talked about some movie while he picked at his food; he didn't even touch the green thing. Eventually, he gave up eating, and went to sit on his bed with his dad.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "Sorry I didn't finish it."

"Ah, no worries. I'll eat it."

Dean went over and took his plate and started sloppily eating what was left, seeming to enjoy it. Jack wondered how he did it.

"You know you gotta eat, right? Get some fat back on you."

"Yeah, I know."

"It's okay, we can build you up to it. Don't expect you to stuff yourself." He shoved a bacon-wrapped potato in his mouth, chewing with his mouth open for a bit, and then he informed him, "So Sam's gonna be in here soon. He's gotta talk to you about some things. Just thought I'd give you a heads up. If you want to hang out with any of us after, that's cool."

Jack nodded, but he didn't really feel it. He wasn't used to whatever this was. Freedom?

"Dean?"

He responded, mouth now crammed full of chicken tender, "Yeah?"

"I can leave my room, right?"

"Yeah, course you can." He set the plate down. For a second his dad's green eyes met his, and Jack quickly looked away, pulling his knees up. "Look, you are allowed to go wherever you want in this bunker basically whenever, and I say _basically_ 'cause we still want you to get some sleep and all that. This is your home, Jack. This isn't a prison. You can walk around here, do what you like, touch most anything… well, actually, hands off the weapons, those are for the grown ups. But we can even take you out when you like. We ain't gonna keep you locked up in here."

"What about playtime?" he asked.

"And _that_ is exactly what Sam is going to talk to you about," Dean answered.

He picked the plate up and ruffled his hair.

"See ya in a bit, kid. You got this."

Jack wasn't quite sure why Dean was giving him encouragement and it made him nervous, but soon, Sam was in the doorway. He smelled even more nervous than Jack felt, absolutely drenched in it, to the point where it seemed he shouldn't be functioning.

"Hey, Jack, can I come in?" Sam asked, words slow, careful.

Jack lowered his brow at him, but said, "Sure."

Sam let out a deep breath and grabbed the chair that Dean had vacated, bringing it right beside the bed.

"So, got this for you," he said, taking something out of his pocket and holding it out for him.

Jack's face lit up upon seeing it. Nougat! Quick as lightning, he grabbed the candy bar from Sam and began unwrapping it. He stuck it in his mouth, deciding to suck on it, to savor it. Oh, it felt like forever since he'd had something so nice.

"And I have these," he went on. Next, he showed him a small notepad and a pen. "Thought you might want to scribble in it if you get upset."

Jack reluctantly bit off the top of the candy bar and took the items from Sam. He flipped open the notepad to the first page, and saw that it was blank.

"So…"

Here it came. Sam's anxiety was heightening.

"I need to talk to you about your time in Heaven."

"About playtime?" Jack asked, all confused, mouth full of the candy.

"Um… Yeah, yeah. So… Uh… It's uh… The angels… They, uh… They lied to you, for starters."

Jack just took another bite of the candy, not sure where Sam was going with this, but his cheeks were flushing, and sweat was breaking out on his forehead. It was making it so Jack almost couldn't enjoy his candy, but he did his best to, knowing that Sam had tried to do a nice thing for him.

Sam heaved out a sigh, and bowed his head, hair falling in front of his face. He was sitting on the chair backwards, and he put his arms over the edge of it, wrists hanging down.

"I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "I really don't. I've been through some things, so Cas thought I'd be the best one to do it, but I don't know if I am, and maybe I shouldn't even be telling you this, but I don't know what I'm doing, Jack. I just came in here hoping that I could clear some things up for you. I'm sure you're really confused."

"Why is playtime bad?" he asked, skipping over what Sam had said. He was glad his dad was being honest with him, but he wanted to get to the point, he wanted everyone to stop feeling so uncomfortable when he brought it up.

"That's the thing," Sam said, shifting closer on the seat, "It's uh… It's not playtime. That's what the angels lied about."

Jack set his candy aside, losing interest in it, and he tried to look at Sam, but he settled for staring at the blank page. The white reminded him of his sheets back in Heaven, sheets that he'd lain in, that he'd rolled around in with… were they his friends or his captors?

"So there's this thing that adults do sometimes called sex."

"Sex?" Jack repeated, trying the word out for himself. He clicked the pen, and then kept doing it, finding it gave him something to do with his fingers.

"And unfortunately, it's uh... Well, there are times where one person uses it to hurt another, or wants to partake in it and the other doesn't. There's a different word for that."

Jack kept clicking the pen.

"Jack, are you listening?"

He nodded.

"Well, I need you to look at me, if you can. I know this isn't easy."

What wasn't easy? Listening to Sam talk? He still didn't even know what he was talking about.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"What?"

He repeated the question, "How do you know?"

Now he did look at Sam, and his dad's eyes were wide, caught off guard.

"I, uh… Look, that's not the point. Th-the word I'm trying to tell you about, it's called rape. And it's what the angels did to you."

Jack just sat there, not understanding.

"So they told you it was playtime, right?" Sam said, cheeks red, while the rest of his face had gone a deathly pale. Jack nodded. "Well, it's not. Playtime doesn't involve putting body parts inside of other people, do you understand?"

"But it was fun," Jack reasoned.

"Okay, and I get that. _Believe me_ , I do. It feels really good, even if you don't want it to. Probably one of the best feelings ever, right?"

"Yeah."

"And I understand. But first thing you have to know, you're a _kid_ , Jack, and they _shouldn't_ have touched you. They know better."

Jack wasn't convinced. Maybe they hadn't known better.

"Then why were they touching me?"

"It's… complicated. But let me put it this way, your body is your own, alright? No one has to touch you if you don't want them to, and no one, no matter who they are, is allowed to touch you in between your legs until you're an adult and not unless they have your consent, you got that?"

"It feels nice there."

"I get that, Jack, and look, I can have Dean talk to you about the body and how all that works, but right now, I just need you to listen to me. We're talking about what happened to you. The angels, they put their hands on you, and they… they put you inside of them, am I correct?"

"Yeah."

"And right now, since you're a kid, you're too young to even consent to that. So that's rape, which is a very, _very_ bad thing, and it's okay to be confused, and hurt."

Jack thought back on it, his times with Ariel, Tamiel, Laila, Anael, and even Nathaniel, even the time Duma had tried. He remembered the first time he'd been inside of Laila, when he'd tried fighting back, when he thought maybe they'd been trying to hurt him. Was Sam saying that they had? That Jack had been right from the start?

Rape.

It was a weird word, and Jack wasn't sure he liked it.

But Anael… How could she?

"Anael didn't rape me," he voiced, words leaving his mouth before he even realized it.

"Jack, I know you were close with her-" Sam began.

"She didn't rape me!"

His dad leaned back, holding up his hands, and Jack glared at him, hands balled into fists at his sides.

"She didn't! She wouldn't hurt me! It's not fair, you didn't know her!"

"Jack, I did know her," Sam refuted. "I kept her safe while trying to find you, I talked to her. I know she didn't want to get mixed up in all this, and I know she… I know she made a mistake, but what she did was wrong. She wasn't supposed to touch you."

"But I _want_ her," he argued. "I want her, and she's dead. I-I want Nathaniel and he's dead. You're lying! They didn't rape me! They wouldn't do that! They loved me."

"Maybe they did," his dad told him. "But that doesn't mean that-"

" _They didn't rape me!_ "

Jack's few belongings went hurtling about the room at his exclamation and Sam ducked to avoid getting hit. His copy of _The Hobbit_ hit the wall, and fell to the floor, the pages folding in on themselves, his laptop smashed against the brick, sparks fizzling, cord stretched till it snapped, the pen stuck right through the stone, bleeding ink down the wall, the notepad hit his dad's upraised arms, the candy fell to the floor, and the picture of his mom landed facedown, glass shattered.

He looked at his hands, which were trembling now, and he buried his face in them, hunching in on himself, and he began to cry, not caring how loud he was.

Sam was calling his name, trying to reach him, but Jack didn't like the things he'd said to him. He wasn't even sure he wanted to believe it of Ariel and Tamiel. They'd been good to him for a time, had made him feel things he'd never felt before. And now Sam was telling him they'd hurt him?

But maybe they had hurt him. It was the only explanation for why he ached inside, for why he felt like he was torn to shreds.

But Anael and Nathaniel? No, no they hadn't. They couldn't have. They wouldn't. They loved him. He loved them.

Had. Had loved them.

They were dead and gone.

In between his sobs he heard his dad ask, "Can I hold you?"

Jack wasn't used to this asking for permission thing, was used to being touched whenever the angels saw fit, but he nodded as he all but screamed. Then his dad was on the bed with him, holding him to him, having his face pressed against his chest.

"Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh… I got you, Jack. I got you. I'm here, I'm here. You're safe."

"Th-th-they didn't ra-ape _me_!" he yelled at him, willing Sam to understand.

"Shh, shh…"

Of course, his dad didn't believe him. Why wouldn't he listen to him?

"Th-they _didn't_!"

"Look, Jack, I'm sorry. I'm just trying to be honest with you. You went through a lot, and you already survived it. The best I can do is tell you the truth. It wouldn't be fair for me to lie to you. Too many people have already been doing that to you. You're a strong kid."

What was Sam even talking about? Jack had never felt less strong in his life, but he was tired of arguing with him, so he said nothing.

They stayed like that for awhile, and then Sam set about straightening out his room.

"I'll get you a new frame," he told him as he carefully scooped up the glass into the end of his shirt. "New laptop and charger too." He straightened, all the glass collected now. "You want more candy?"

"No, I'm… I'm alright."

"Jack, I'm sorry this is so difficult. I never wanted this for you, but if it's worth anything, I know what you're going through."

"How?"

Sam looked about the room, chewing on his bottom lip, and then his hazel eyes met Jack's. They were sad, pained, and Jack could smell fresh hurt like an open wound.

"Can you keep a secret?"

Jack nodded, shifting eagerly to the edge of the bed, awaiting whatever it was his dad had to share with him.

"I've been raped, too."

A million questions came to mind, his mouth hanging open, but he couldn't put words to his thoughts.

It didn't make sense. No, that couldn't be.

Sam was strong.

Jack couldn't picture it, couldn't picture Sam naked and exposed and crying and _feeling_.

"I know everyone's experience is different - lord knows my experiences haven't all been the same - but you're not the only one, Jack."

"Dean? Cas?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "Just me. Cas knows though. I told him, while you were gone. He was there for me, and I know he wants to be there for you. You should give him a chance."

"You should give Dean a chance," Jack suggested.

Of all things, his dad smiled.

"Yeah, guess you're right. I'll uh… I'll be in my room. Just let me know if you need anything. No matter what time it is, my door's always open."

And just like that Jack was left alone, feeling like someone had taken a shovel and scooped out the inside of him and filled it with something less, something that didn't hold together well. He hugged himself, hoping he could keep his insides in, and wondering, not for the first time, what he was going to do without Anael or Nathaniel.

 _They didn't rape me,_ he resolutely thought.

A tendril of darkness slithered into his mind after the thought, wrapping around it, caressing, before embedding itself inside.

 _They didn't rape me._

The darkness pulsed, his insides feeling like they were sliding apart.

 _They didn't rape me._

The darkness tore through him before settling down in between his legs. Jack thought of getting a knife.

 _They didn't rape me._

It was going to be a long night.


	26. Au Claire de la Lune

**A/N: So Destiel happens in this chapter, and in this story I've been trying to throw in hints that Dean and Cas are pretty close for quite awhile. Now that I've traumatized Castiel as well, I figured having him open up to Dean about it would be a good way to deal with his trauma, and since I am a Destiel shipper, I'm going to write the ship. Oh no, does this mean this is now a romance story? No, of course not. It's just one part of a combined whole. At this point, to make Jack's recovery work and how everyone else is dealing with it, I'm trying to focus on _all_ of Team Free Will 2.0, especially since they're a family unit. So this story is still Jack-centric (honestly, I've been doing stuff on the side with the rest of Team Free Will for a while in this story anyway, like the stuff with Anael, so I don't know why this would be a problem). I just don't want to leave any of the characters behind, especially since they're all struggling with different things. This is my story, and I'm not here to argue ships with anyone, but don't worry, I am in no way interested in a full-on romance story. I can't stand those.**

* * *

Sam assured the rest of his family that Jack was safe, and then he went to his room, but he wasn't going to sit around doing nothing. No, he couldn't do that. He searched through his phone, his notes from cases from a few months ago, and he practically kissed the piece of paper with the hastily scrawled number on it when he found it.

Hurriedly, barely daring to breathe, Sam tapped the number into his phone. It was late, but he had to try anyway.

It went to voicemail, so he hung up and tried again.

Voicemail once more, so Sam left a message, reminding her of who he was, saying it was urgent, and what number to call him back at.

With nothing else to do, Sam got out his laptop, and started research on Stockholm Syndrome, because that feeling he'd had back in Jack's room, that helplessness while he'd screamed and cried, he never wanted to feel it again. He wanted to know what to say, wanted to know how to help him, wanted to know if he was even pushing him in the right direction.

There might not be a light at the end of this tunnel, but Sam was going to make one.

* * *

Cas was drinking with Dean. They were still on their first bottle of scotch, and hopefully wouldn't get to their second. They'd opened it up after they'd heard Jack screaming, but Castiel could hear the conversation, and knew that he was safe. Safe, but not okay. No, not that. Of course, not that. Castiel couldn't even get drunk, but he wished he could. Dean was trying very hard. They sat beside each other in the kitchen, legs touching.

Dean had yet to start slurring his words, maybe wouldn't reach that point. Castiel considered taking the alcohol away from him. They had a kid to take care of.

"How's your arm?" Dean asked.

"You asked that three minutes and fifteen seconds ago," Castiel informed him, taking a sip straight from the bottle before passing it to Dean.

His friend grinned at him.

"It's all healed now."

"Mm… You know, you left some bruises on my leg."

"I did?"

"Mm. Yeah, when you were holding onto me while I was stitching you up."

Castiel immediately reached out his hand to heal him, and Dean brushed his arm aside.

"No, no. No. It's fine."

"Dean, if you're hurt-"

His friend gave him a very odd look, and then took a very purposeful sip from the bottle, lips wrapped tightly around it. Castiel swallowed roughly, not sure what to do with that look. Maybe before this he would've known, but now, sex was hard to think about.

"You know, I heard Sam say you'll tell Jack about sex," he informed his friend.

Dean groaned, and rolled his eyes skyward, as if he was praying. In fact, Castiel then felt his consciousness nudging at his in that familiar way it often did when he prayed to him. He wondered if his friend was even aware he was doing it.

"God, that sucks," he groaned. "Sex. Why me?"

"You like sex," Castiel reasoned.

It was true. He knew Dean did like it. Castiel wasn't sure he quite saw the appeal of it, at least, not with random people. With someone he was close to, like maybe Dean, perhaps, but… It wasn't something on his mind. It was at the moment, had been a lot recently, but it was bitter to him now. He tried to enjoy Dean's stares like he used to, tried to meet his gaze with the same heat, tried to enjoy the lingering looks on his lips as they spoke, but it felt like some part of him had been crushed. Castiel wanted to voice all this to Dean, even ask for help with it, but he didn't know how. He didn't even know how to tell Dean about what the angels had done in that room. He didn't know the words for it. Maybe Dean did, but Castiel just wasn't smart enough, not when it came to things like this.

"I sure do," Dean drawled, breath heavy with liquor.

Castiel rolled his glass between his hands, staring at the bit of amber-colored liquid at the bottom.

"Do you think it's possible to… to get hurt without actually getting hurt?" he asked, and then winced when he realized how stupid that had sounded.

"You mean, like you see or hear something bad?"

"I suppose."

"Yeah, it's possible. Happens to a lot of the vics we talk to. Maybe nothing bad happened to them, but they still gotta deal with what they saw, what they heard. You still gotta deal with it. This is about the crap with Nathaniel, right?"

Castiel looked away, which must've been answer enough, because Dean went on, "It's okay-"

"No, it's not. He even touched him where I could see! And he… And he… Dean, it's disgusting."

"Look, that's not what I meant. All I'm saying is it's okay to feel messed up because of it. I know it's gross. This shit's all fucked up, and there ain't no way around it except through."

"Dean, they-they..."

"I know what they did, Cas."

"No, you don't! There's this thing in my head that won't leave, and I don't even know how to tell you about it."

"Then give it to me."

"What?" Castiel asked, taken aback, staring at Dean with wide eyes.

He thumped his chest. "Come on, give it to me."

"Why would you even want to do that to yourself?"

Didn't Dean understand how much it hurt?

Dean pushed the bottle and glasses aside, and took Castiel's face in his warm hands. His touch was soothing, but it felt like a betrayal to his son, his son who had been hurt through getting touched.

"Cas, please," he pleaded. "I don't want you to be alone. You were gone, Jack was gone, and yeah, I had Sam, I always have Sam, but you, you were up there, witnessing things that I'm not even sure I have the stomach for. And I've seen Hell, but angels, sometimes they're a special brand of creepy."

He pressed his own hand against Dean's, keeping it there, as he asked, "Then why do you want it?"

"The way I see it, when we all go through something, it separates us, drives us apart because we can't share those experiences, and it closes us off from one another. Sometimes I feel like I don't know anybody, and like none of you know me. I don't want that for you. The angels, they don't want you, and you don't want them. But I want you."

Castiel stared into Dean's eyes, trying to figure out what was happening, if this was what he thought it was, if it was what he'd been hoping for, but he couldn't tell, was too nervous, too hurt.

"Dean, what are you saying?"

His friend blushed and murmured, "Sam did always say I'm not as good at smooth-talking as I think I am. He's probably right, too."

"Dean?"

Before Castiel knew what was happening, Dean's lips were against his, and they were every bit as soft and warm as he'd imagined. The kiss was desperate, pleading, begging for him to let him in, and Castiel wanted to reciprocate, had wanted to for years, felt it burning in his blood, and aching in his chest, but there was something in him that told him no.

Dean pulled away, tears building up in his eyes, and then he looked down, clearing his throat.

"Sorry, I thought… Um… Yeah, think about the uh, the mind-memory thing, and uh… Yeah."

He got up, and made to leave.

Cas went after him.

"Dean!"

"Forget it."

"Dean."

He grabbed his friend, and pressed him against the wall, arm against his collarbone. Dean inhaled sharply, barely breathing, and Castiel could feel the way his heartbeat thudded powerfully in his chest.

"You think I don't care about you, Dean Winchester? You couldn't be more wrong. I have cared about you even when my superiors disapproved, even when they tried to _carve_ it out of me. You have done so many very dumb things, and yet you are the human that I keep coming back to. First you were my charge, my mission, but you are no longer that, and I. Am still. Here. I have bled for you, I have died for you, I have sacrificed just to be by your side, so don't you dare think that I don't care about you."

"But-"

"What, I didn't kiss back? That's what I'm trying to tell you. What I heard and saw up there, it hurt me, it changed something in me that I don't know if I can get back. What was my home, it has fallen into ruin."

"Then let me be your home."

Castiel couldn't breathe, suddenly forgot how to, and he was able to kiss Dean, things feeling right for just a mere moment in time. The tension between them came together, and instead of clashing and breaking, it thrummed, like waves meeting and joining, building till Castiel was trying to bruise him with his lips, and Dean was trying to get his arms up to hold him. Deciding to let him, he cradled his head in one hand, thumb against his cheekbone near his ear, and Dean opened his mouth, and Castiel felt as though he was inhaling him. His friend, or whatever he was to him now, his family, his home, this wonderful human being, was holding onto him for dear life, hips pressed right up against him, fingers nearly bruising his skin.

It was as if he couldn't get enough of him, and he had to hold him closer, had to be part of him, and Dean had no problems with Castiel putting his tongue in his mouth. He knew this action was very human, but he had shed the layers of his brethren, had turned from their ways, had been betrayed by them when they'd hurt his child. Dean had fought for what Castiel believed in, had stayed true and righteous, while God's first creations had not. So this act, this human act, was meant to be, with all its sloppiness, its desperation, its wanton desire, and Dean tasted like nothing Castiel could've ever imagined. It wasn't just the blandness of the molecules he was made up of, but _him_ , the tired, broken, loving man that he was.

The hurt dissipated, the crying, the images in his head, that screaming face in the wall that had become him, it was all gone, replaced with Dean. It was all he knew, the smell of him, the taste, his body flush against his. Before Castiel knew it his hands were under Dean's shirt, grabbing at flesh he had put back together all those years ago, flesh that he knew, but still yearned to lay claim to.

Dean had gotten Castiel's coat off, along with his jacket, and was undoing his tie, and the buttons on his shirt. They broke apart, Dean still wrestling with his clothes. Castiel brushed his nose against his, nudging him back against the wall. It wasn't till Dean's hands had untucked his shirt and had started undoing his pants that Castiel came back to himself. He hissed in a breath, and tilted his head back. A growl left him when Dean came forward and placed a kiss on his neck, sending a shock down his body to where Dean's hands were.

"Dean, we can't."

He gripped Dean, and held him back, which he responded to by growling, slamming his arm up against his collarbone.

"Why not?" he challenged, mouth not even an inch from his, lips parted and tempting.

"Jack. It's not fair to him. He's not going to understand why we can have it and he can't."

"Maybe," Dean began, trying to get his mouth closer, but Castiel only held him away, "we can set an example, show him a healthy relationship."

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm sorry, I may have misheard you. Did you just use the word _healthy_ to describe us?"

"Fine, consensual," Dean corrected.

"Ah, that sounds a little better."

"So what do you say? Do you consent to this? Can I be what your family couldn't?"

"They're not my family," Castiel all but snarled.

"Good."

Dean's hands traveled lower again, into his pants, and he grabbed his wrists, pinning them up by his head.

"What?"

"I'm not…" Castiel started before trailing off. He had been staring into Dean's eyes, seeing the heat in the them, but it was overwhelming, so he closed them, pressing his forehead against his. "I'm not ready for that."

He felt Dean's disappointment with his long exhale, and he breathed it in, taking it into himself, coming to a decision, though he wasn't sure how well he could provide.

"There is one thing I can do."

His friend tried to laugh, to seem as if he was relaxed, but Castiel felt the way his heartbeat jumped, the way his breath stuttered, and there was no mistaking the hardness he felt against his pelvis.

"Oh?" he asked him, smiling.

Castiel got down on his knees in response, hands trailing down his body to start working on undoing his jeans.

"Fuck."

"I've never done this before," Castiel informed him, "so I may be very bad at it."

"Oh god, I don't care."

Castiel caressed the skin that was exposed to him, listening to Dean's breathing, watching him arch his hips forward. He placed his hand against the bruises that were left there - a dark purple near his inner thigh where his thumb had been that turned into a blue the farther out it went. He could see where he'd held Dean that night, and he was glad he was holding him here now, for a much more pleasant reason.

Dean had a hand in his hair, fingertips alighting fire in his skin, filling him with bliss, with purpose, and his other hand went to the one at his thigh, pressing down on it. A groan left him. Cas smirked, realizing what Dean was telling him. He put pressure on his bruises, till Dean was breathing hard, leaning his head back, his fingers wrapping around his wrist.

"Would you like more bruises, Dean?" Castiel asked him.

Hurting his friend wasn't something he often thought about. He remembered the times he had hurt Dean, and he sorely regretted them, and wanted to hold him, erase those moments forever, but if little things like this gave him pleasure, who was he to deny him that? Besides, it was very enjoyable having Dean like this. Castiel hadn't realized he was so… malleable.

He moved his hand aside, reaching up to caress his hip, and he kissed the discolored skin, making a shudder pass through him.

"Y-yes," he got out. "Please, Cas."

So Castiel held onto him hard as he used his other hand to maneuver him into his mouth. Dean's legs tensed, his hips arching forward, and he growled, hands snagging in his hair. Saying that Castiel didn't know what he was doing was an understatement. Was he supposed to suck? Lick? Try to fit as much of him as possible? He realized he could fit all of him - really, it wasn't that hard since a gag reflex was a very human thing, and not something an angel had to deal with. He must've been doing something right because Dean was hot and hard in his mouth, even throbbing and twitching occasionally. He stared up at Dean, hands like iron on his hips, as he held him to him, and Dean almost looked to be high, eyes alight with bliss, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed. The sight of his lips parted made him hold on harder, and he got a whine in response.

"You know…" Dean panted, "you're actually not that bad at this."

Castiel pulled himself off of him, and took him into his hand, being gentle, until Dean told him he could be more rough.

Dean's thumbs brushed over his ears, and Cas exhaled hard, surprised by the jolt of pleasure that went through him from it, and he reached around to grip at Dean's ass.

His friend chuckled.

"Hmm, didn't know that could feel good, did you? Ears are sensitive, buddy." Castiel was now kissing the red marks on Dean's legs that were a tad swollen, and would bruise in a matter of hours, and he listened to him talk, enjoyed how low his voice was due to his arousal, "You know, maybe I should stop calling you that. What about _baby_? What do ya think of that?"

"You can call me whatever you want," Castiel informed him before licking the underside of him.

"Mm, the dreams I've had of this moment, Cas…"

He squeezed his leg, fingers pressing against sensitive flesh, and a guttural moan left him, his cock twitching. Castiel had had sex before but he hadn't realized that such little things could be a part of it, that holding Dean to him could feel special, and like he belonged somewhere.

He did his best to be attentive to his friend, his lover, whatever he was - and eventually, Dean's thumbs were caressing his cheeks, his back arched, as he was held at his mercy, murmuring repeatedly that he was close.

"I don't have to finish in you," he heaved out as Castiel diligently continued his work. "Oh god, fuck, Cas!"

He paid him no heed, knowing he most likely wouldn't be bothered by the taste of him. Castiel grabbed Dean's ass, trying to bruise, as he took in all of him, feeling him empty into him with a needy growl.

When he finished, Castiel swallowed, and Dean pulled him up to his feet for a heated kiss.

"Not bad," he commented. "But you forgot about my balls."

Castiel's face flushed red to his ears. "Sorry."

Dean kissed him again, before saying, "We'll work on it."

"And what do we tell Sam and Jack?" Castiel asked, stepping back and righting his clothes, allowing Dean to do the same.

The hunter went over to the table and grabbed the bottle of scotch, eyeing it intently before tilting his head back and having a few swallows.

"We could tell 'em I got really drunk?" he suggested.

Castiel frowned. "But Dean, we just-"

Dean sighed, and sat down, a hand on his face. "I know, I know. Maybe I'm not ready."

"But Dean, the things you said to me." Castiel got before him, taking his hand in his. "Please, I've lost so much. Without you, without this family, there is no place for me. And maybe what just happened, maybe it means so little to you, maybe you're used to it, but that was new a-and different, and perhaps you can show me that sex isn't just a weapon that was used to hurt our son. But I don't want it to be nothing to you. I refuse to be like those girls you hook-up with on hunts because you're bored and they're pretty."

Dean put the bottle aside, and put his hand under Castiel's chin, tilting his head up.

"Is that what you think you are? Just some pretty face? I was losing it without you. I didn't even know how to _breathe_ , didn't know how to carry on. And I'm… I'm scared, I'm absolutely freakin' terrified. We're soldiers, Cas. Soldiers _die_. It's the only thing we're good for."

"Then we have to take this opportunity and run with it," Castiel argued. "We have to love hard for as long as we can. So much has happened to this family, to us, and I am sick of hiding. I want to love you, all of you, as much as I can before we lose each other. Being up there, it made me realize how alone I am, how alone everyone is."

"We don't have to be alone."

"Then let's do this thing. Let's not hide, or lie, or keep secrets. Sam will understand," Castiel finished with a smile as he thought fondly of his friend.

Sam. He was too good for this world, too kind for all that it had done to him. Castiel cherished each moment with him just as he did with Dean. He loved both brothers equally, if only in different ways.

"And Jack?"

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "I… I want to know how to be a good father, and I'm constantly worrying that I'm doing the wrong thing, that he's lost to us, to me, but-"

"Jack will come back to you," Dean assured. "Come here." He made room for Castiel beside him, and then wrapped an arm around his shoulders as he kissed his head. "I'm not a good dad, and I have shit I gotta make up for, but maybe he needs this, needs a little unity in his life."

Castiel wasn't entirely convinced. Dean hadn't seen the way their son was, how he had acted up in Heaven, hadn't seen the innocence that had been stolen from him, left with an empty hole where a child should've been. No, he was still that. Still that child. Castiel remembered him laughing on the waters of the Axis Mundi. Hope had not yet failed them.

"We'll explain it to him, and we'll just keep things on the downlow with the PDA," he went on.

Castiel didn't know why, but he suddenly had the urge to cry. Everything seemed to have caught up to him, and it felt like he was falling, his featherless wings useless to help him fly, the floor no longer beneath his feet. He grasped Dean, burying his face in his shoulder, and willed his tears back, and even with him at his side, nothing in that moment felt okay.

* * *

3:00 in the morning. Too early to be getting up, but really, Sam had been drifting in a nightmare, so it was almost a relief when he felt Jack's hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah? Yeah, what is it?" he asked, years of training making him able to pull himself from sleep almost immediately.

"I can't sleep," he complained.

Sam switched his lamp on, and had Jack sit on the bed with him as he tried to shake off the dark cold of the nightmare. His son had changed into his pajamas - plaid bottoms, and a gray T-shirt, and they were too big on him.

"You get any sleep?" he asked him.

He shook his head.

"Have you tried sleeping?

A nod.

"Okay, come on. Let's go to the kitchen. I'll see what I can do."

Dean had gotten to bed, and to his surprise, he and Castiel hadn't finished off the bottle of scotch, and their glasses were even drying on a towel on the counter. The angel was nowhere to be found, but sometimes he liked to keep to himself.

Sam tried to get Jack talking about what was on his mind while he fixed him a mug of warm milk, but he was still morose about earlier. The milk didn't seem to do much, so then Sam tried peppermint tea, which Jack didn't even like much, and he ended up just bitterly looking at him from across the table.

"Do you want to sleep?" Sam ventured, realizing what the problem could be.

His son shrugged.

"Because if you don't, I understand," he went on. "You can't control what happens in your sleep, and that's scary. Your mind does things you don't want it to, you have nightmares-"

Jack cut him off, "And they make me hurt you."

"That was one time," Sam told him. "Don't worry about it."

"But I do worry about it. And it's not just that… the nightmares, they… they feel like they're going to kill me."

"Do you think they will?" Sam asked, trying to figure out what was going on in his head.

"No. I just hate the feeling. Do you get nightmares?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted, getting up to get himself something hot to drink. He couldn't decide between tea or coffee. He knew which one was the healthier choice, but he only cared about Jack at the moment. He settled for coffee, realizing he might not have the luxury of going back to sleep that night; his kid could need him. "Most nights, actually."

"How do you deal with them?"

"I'm not sure that I do. But how about this, I go get my laptop, do a little digging, and see if I can find anything that can help you."

Jack agreed, so Sam went to his room to retrieve his laptop. His coffee was done brewing when he got back, and after adding a little sugar, he sat down at the table, took a sip, and opened his laptop up.

After a few minutes of searching, with Jack picking at his fingers even when Sam kept trying to get him to stop, he thought maybe he found something.

"Hey, Jack, how are you with writing?"

His son answered slowly, "I don't know."

"Well, this article I found says that you could write your dreams out, but instead of writing the bad ending, you write a different one instead, where something good happens."

"Like you save me?"

"Yeah," Sam smiled at him, liking the idea.

Jack was smiling too, but then his face fell in confusion and frustration. "But how do I write something I don't understand? I don't… I don't remember everything."

"And you think I do?" Sam asked, doing his best to keep this light-hearted, while still remaining serious. It was true. Sometimes he didn't remember his nearly two centuries in Hell. It wasn't something the human mind was meant to deal with, and sometimes it would hit him clear as day while he was doing something mundane like walking down the hallway, or brushing his teeth, or cleaning his guns. There was no rhyme or reason to it, and he figured there never would be. "It's okay that you don't. And maybe you want to remember, maybe you don't, _but_ there is one thing you know for certain."

"What?"

"How it makes you feel. So just focus on that."

"What if… What if it doesn't help?"

"Then we'll try something else."

"Alright."

Jack got up from his seat, and started trudging off, shoulders slumped in weary defeat.

"Hey, wait. I'm not gonna let you go off to bed so upset. You wanna do something?"

"Like what?"

"You still got that book I gave you? _The Hobbit_? We could just relax and read together, or I could read to you."

With Sam's words strength was poured into Jack's weakened body, and so that was how they ended up in Sam's room, Sam all scrunched up on his bed to make room for the kid, reading to him. He got through a few chapters before Jack relaxed enough to nod off. And Sam thought about moving him, putting him back in his room, but he wanted Jack to know where he was when he woke up, to be in a place he remembered falling asleep in, to know he was safe.

Sam ended up having to forfeit the bed, getting sore from trying to fit in such a small space, so he spent the early hours of the morning at his desk, reading to see if there was perhaps a more creative solution to Jack's problem with sleep. He read about a Japanese demon called a Baku that ate nightmares, but he decided to not go down that road. The supernatural world had hurt Jack. It was the human world now that would help him.

 _Well, maybe not all things human,_ Sam thought as his phone began to ring, and he saw it was who he'd been expecting.

He left the room, quietly closing the door behind him, before answering.


	27. Love Actually

**A/N: As promised, this is still a story all about Jack.**

 **WARNING: This chapter briefly contains self-harm.**

* * *

"Hi, Mia, this is Sam Winchester. I don't know if you remember me-"

The shape-shifter cut him off, but not in a manner that was entirely rude, "Yes, I got your message. And of course I remember you. You're the one who killed Buddy." It was difficult to gauge her emotions with that last sentence, and Sam figured they were probably complicated, so he waited in awkward silence for her to go on. "You said you needed my help?"

"You remember Jack?" Sam asked.

"Is he still having difficulties with the loss of his mother?"

Sam looked back at his bedroom door, as if somehow facing the direction his son was in would give him an answer. But, in case he woke up, Sam wandered further down the hall; he didn't want anyone to overhear this conversation.

"Um… well, my brother and I - I know we're hunters, so we're not exactly on the same side, and this life has a lot of bad shit, but uh… something _happened_ to Jack recently, and uh, we - _I_ don't know what to do. I've been doing my research, but-"

Again, she cut him of, trying to get straight to the point: "What happened?"

Sam looked behind him, making sure he was completely alone, and answered, "Something traumatic."

"Sam, I'm a grief counselor, _not_ a trauma specialist."

"I know, I know, but grief - that's part of it. So, uh, long story short he got captured, and recently when we rescued him, two of his captors died." There was a pregnant silence as Mia waited for him to elaborate, but Sam was sure she knew where this was going. "Look, he's taking it hard. I'm not an expert on this stuff, but I think he's got Stockholm Syndrome, so-so the people that died, he… loved them."

"Sam-" Mia began, tone showing that she still hadn't changed her decision on this.

"Please, if I can convince him, just one session. I'll even pay extra, or-or if you need me to get rid of someone, I'll do that too, or-"

"Fine, one session, but from what you're telling me, this sounds way over my head. I'm simply not trained to deal with any of these issues. For Jack to get better he's going to need EMDR and CBT, possibly DBT."

Sam frowned and squeezed the bridge of his nose, getting confused with all the letters, but he knew one thing they meant - Jack had little hope of getting better.

"Is there anyone you could recommend? I can't go to anyone normal for this since his captors weren't human."

"Not that I know of. If there are any others like me, they're keeping their identities just as secret as I am. And even if I did, it'd be dangerous to pass that information onto you and your family."

"Okay, yeah, that's fair," Sam agreed after a sigh. "Mia, is there any chance you could tell me what the hell I'm supposed to be doing here? He - when he mentions them I don't know what to do. He's really missing them, and he doesn't believe they hurt him. Do I just… let him think that?"

"Just listen. Validate his emotions, but don't try to argue with him. It could turn him away from you since he's in a very vulnerable place. But try to teach him, if you can. The more he knows the better off he is."

Sam closed his eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for even this bit of information. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. He'd felt like he was floundering around in the dark, but now it was a little brighter.

"Thank you so much, you have no idea how much this means."

"Sam, my work with him is going to open up a lot. Are you sure about this? It won't harm him, per se, but it'll make taking care of him a much more difficult task."

"I just… I can't stand to see him like this. I'm willing to try just about anything."

"Alright, just let me look at my appointment book, then."

After some discussion, Sam scheduled an appointment for next Monday in the morning, so he could spend the rest of the day cheering Jack up and making sure he got rest. He thanked Mia again, and she once more reminded him that there wouldn't be much that she could do, which now left Sam doubtful as he hung up the phone.

 _Will I even be able to get Jack to Wisconsin?_

It hadn't been something he'd entirely been considering seeing as he was so desperate to get him help, but he wasn't sure how easy it would be to get his son to leave the bunker. This was hopefully a safe place to him now, but the world outside it was not, and Sam wouldn't blame him if he didn't want to leave. Some days he didn't want to leave either. Grief counseling… Well, it was better than nothing.

* * *

"Fix him." Those were the words getting repeated in Jack's head. He thought maybe Nathaniel was saying them. But everything was blurry, and too bright, too white. Someone told him that Nathaniel wasn't the only one there.

"Fix him."

His head was throbbing and aching, so much so that he wanted to scream, but there was something over his mouth.

"Fix him."

Hot blood ran from his scalp down over his ears, and onto his face, getting in his eyes, making them sting.

"Fix him."

Then there were hard, sharp things, cold, trying to get into his head. The bad guys were going to get into his head.

"Fix him."

His heart was working hard, feeling as if it was going to escape his chest. The bad guys were in his head, but the pain was gone. Nathaniel's hand was on his back, but he still couldn't see him. He turned, trying to face him, but there was nothing there to perceive. It wasn't as if his face was blank, just that nothing was there, nothing that he could quite remember.

"You've been a good boy today."

Jack opened his mouth, now free of whatever had been on it earlier, to try and say something, to respond, but his voice was trapped inside him. What would he say to him? Did he have to go back to the Room? Was it playtime?

One second Nathaniel was running a hand through his hair and then over his bare back, and the next, Jack was hunched over him, finger in his mouth, biting, sweet blood pooling on his tongue, and coating his lips. In retaliation, Nathaniel chained him.

His chains were tugged on, and he fought back. He was shoved, slapped, shoved again. Jack was being dragged down the hall, and he tripped over something, falling to the marble floor. When he looked back Nathaniel was by his feet, blade sticking out of his chest, eyes a pale, milky white, blood seeping from around the silver in him. The chains were tugged on. It was Cael.

"Fix him."

Nathaniel's voice, but he still lay dead on the floor.

Jack tried to run, to run away from all of it, but the chains were held fast. He moved, an inch, another inch, and eventually he was able to walk. Cael was gone, but the chains were held by someone else. He endlessly wandered the white halls, losing himself in the vastness of Heaven. Eventually there was a trail to follow on the floor, bloodied footprints, and when he looked down they were his, already laid out before him.

The chains were heavier than ever now, and, exhausted, Jack could go no further. He collapsed to the floor, and rolled onto his back. His body nudged something, two somethings. Suddenly, he was closed in by two bodies, two people he knew: Anael and Nathaniel. Anael was on his right, Nathaniel his left, and they were dead, his chains wrapped around their still-warm and bleeding bodies so that he was trapped, held down by them.

Jack tried to hold their hands, but then there was Sam, Dean, and Castiel, grabbing him, pulling him away.

"Fix him."

Jack woke up, unable to breathe, unable to move, alone.

Pain was in his body, and he didn't know why. There were sensations that he didn't understand, things he associated with playtime, things he associated with the angels hurting him. It was like they were warring in his body, neither winning, but throbbing through him, till he gripped the sheet so fiercely his hand hurt from the pressure.

The door opened, and he started, feeling as if his heart had entirely stopped, everything in him turning cold and tingly.

"Hey, hey, hey," Sam murmured, by his side immediately. Light filtered in from the hallway, casting a beam on his dad's face, showing Jack his concern. "Hey, I'm here. It was just a nightmare."

"You took me away," Jack said, the words leaving his mouth before he'd barely thought them.

Sam smelled hurt, and he insisted, "No, no, Jack. We saved you. That's what we did."

" _You took me away from them_."

It was too easy to remember Nathaniel's and Anael's bodies as they lay beside him in the dream, too easy to remember how he'd had to leave them behind, how he'd been taken away from them.

But then he shuddered, thinking of Cael. Cael and his forcefulness and his unkind way of treating him.

"Shh, it's okay. I know it hurts, Jack. Believe me, I know, but you're safe, you're at home."

"No," he argued, not even sure why he was doing it.

"Yes, this is home. With us - me, Dean, and Castiel."

Jack wasn't entirely convinced, still ensnared by the bonds of his nightmare. He swore he could feel the metal against his wrists, and he was now rubbing at them, confused by feeling just bare skin. He didn't like lying down anymore, not when Sam was hovering above him, so he sat up to even the odds. That felt a tad better.

Sam gave him a sympathetic look, and went on, "You're safe here. And you're safe with us. We won't hurt you."

"Did they really rape me?" Jack asked, thinking back to the people he loved who he'd never see again.

Sam's conversation from earlier had fled his mind while he was terrified, and while there was a heavy, ponderous feeling in his chest, he was starting to feel back to normal - or what passed as normal for him.

Jack still couldn't entirely understand what was bad about rape, though Sam had explained it to him. He blushed, remembering how he was still thinking of it as playtime right after he'd woken up.

Playtime couldn't be rape, could it?

But that other game in the Room, that one wasn't fun.

"Yes, Jack. They did."

Not sure what to make of Sam's answer, Jack just responded with, "They had their reasons." Though what those reasons could possibly be, he had no idea. He then repeated something he'd been told time and time again. "They needed me to save Heaven."

"Did you want to save Heaven?"

"I had to," he answered, confused by Sam's question, and the way he'd asked it.

"That's what you were told?"

"Yeah."

"What about what you weren't told? Did you want to do it?"

"They're… my family," Jack reasoned.

"Family doesn't do what they did to you."

He shrugged, unconvinced. He hated the angels, just as he missed them. Sam didn't seem eager to continue the conversation, but Jack found himself just staring at the sheets, and then picking at a piece of thread in Sam's quilt, pulling at it, unraveling it, wishing he could do the same with his thoughts.

"Do you want breakfast?" Sam asked.

Jack did a bad thing and lied, nodding his head. But maybe lying wasn't all bad. He remembered Sam explaining it to him one time.

Knowing he was going to be leaving the room, he held his wrists out on instinct.

Sam arched an eyebrow at him. "What are you doing?"

Jack just held his wrists closer to him, holding them together to make it easier to put the chains on.

"I'm leaving the room," Jack said.

"Uh huh."

Sam still wasn't getting it, so he kicked the covers off, and presented him his ankles as well.

"Jack, you don't need to do that," Sam said, smelling heavily of confusion. He gently reached out and pressed his wrists down, lowering them, forcing out a quiet laugh. "Come on, I'll cook you something."

Something stabbed Jack, a realization, and he felt his cheeks heating up. Home. Family. Family wasn't supposed to chain you up. He could leave the room, free.

That thought bothered Jack for some reason, and he felt like he was breaking some rule when he followed his dad into the kitchen. All of this, including his failure to save Heaven, had him questioning if he was a good guy or a bad guy. Maybe he was the bad guy. Jack kept these thoughts to himself, not sure how to voice them, or if he even wanted to.

Sam did a peculiar thing with his food. He got Jack one of the biggest plates they had, and put a tiny portion directly in the middle, making it look incredibly small.

"Can I have more?" Jack asked, surprising himself.

"Just eat that for now," Sam told him.

And so he did, his dad trying to get him to talk about _Star Wars_ while he ate. Before Jack knew it, the bit of food on his plate was gone, and Sam was giving him a second helping. It wasn't much, but it was easy to eat this way. Towards the end of finishing his second small helping chewing felt incredibly tiring, and he gave up, pushing his plate aside.

"Sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. You ate something. You gotta give yourself credit for that."

Sam got Jack to help him with the dishes, and though Jack felt like it would be better for him to just lie down and let darkness fall over him like a blanket, he felt useful doing this task.

Castiel entered - Jack felt his presence before he heard or saw him - and Jack wanted to glare, especially when he saw, of all things, a smile on his father's face. Sam seemed taken aback by the expression.

"Good morning, Sam, Jack."

"Morning," Jack grumbled, figuring he'd at least try to give him a chance as Sam had suggested.

Grief wasn't trying particularly hard at strangling him at the moment, so it was a tad easier.

"You're cheerful," Sam observed.

"Yes, well, some _things_ happened last night."

"Oh?"

Jack was too tired to be interested in this conversation, so he drowned it out as he kept drying the plate he was holding, staring hard at the sink as if maybe that would somehow bring him some sort of contentment. There was a hole in him, one that he couldn't see the bottom of, and it felt like it was growing wider, consuming him. More than anything, it was dull, aching, and he actually preferred it to the fear, confusion, and anger he'd been feeling lately, preferred it more than that other hot, heart-rending emotion he couldn't put a name to.

Jack jumped as Sam suddenly exclaimed something quite loudly. The plate crashed from his hands, and shattered on the floor, making him completely tense up, shoulders rising, and he might've let out a startled cry.

Immediately, his father and his dad were by him, and brushing up the pieces of the broken plate. Jack didn't know why but he felt that prick at the corners of his eyes, and then tears were trailing down his face.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Castiel told him. "We didn't mean to frighten you."

"Yeah, that one's on me, Jack," Sam admitted. Of all things, his dad nudged Castiel, and gave him a look Jack had never seen before - it was almost playful. "There any other parts of the kitchen I need to clean while I'm at it?"

"No, we-" Castiel began, but then cut himself off.

"What's going on?" Jack asked slowly, realizing he had missed something.

Castiel rose, depositing the shards of plate in his hands into the trash, and then he gently pulled Jack over to the table, having him sit.

"So, Jack, there's something… new, and maybe it'll be a little hard for you to understand, but-"

"Cas, don't overcomplicate it," Sam suggested.

"Well, then, putting it simply, I love Dean."

"Don't tell _him_ that," Sam advised, a joking light in his eye.

"I thought you all loved each other," Jack said with a frown. Castiel smiled and reached for his hands, but Jack pulled back and put them in his lap. The room became tense, Jack barely able to breathe, but then it was a little better when Sam sat beside him.

"We do," Castiel explained. "But there are different kinds of love. The love I have for you is different than the love I have for Sam, and the love I have for Sam is different than the love I have for Dean. Do you understand?"

Jack tried to think about love, to think about the different people in his life. There hadn't been many: Sam, Dean, Castiel, his mother, Nathaniel, Anael. Love. There was a glaring difference between the relationships with his mother and his family, and the angels. The angels he was allowed to touch in between their legs, the others, the desire or thought didn't even come to him. Was that part of love? If it was, then how could Sam claim that Nathaniel and Anael had raped him? It didn't make sense.

"I… don't know," Jack answered carefully. "I know how I feel about my mom is _different_ than how I feel about Anael." Pressure seemed to fall over the room, weight settling on all of them, though Jack still didn't completely understand why. "Is it like that?" he asked.

"A little," Castiel explained. "But you see, Dean, he-he feels the same way. What's happening between us, we talked about it, made sure it was mutual."

"So it's okay for you to love Dean, but I'm not supposed to love Anael, or Nathaniel?" Jack quested, head swimming with a million thoughts.

"Don't think of it like that," Sam said, though of course, that didn't change the fact that Jack had thought of it like that. "Like we discussed last night, you're too young, and the angels - even Anael and Nathaniel - they never got your permission to touch you. You can understand that, right?"

"Yeah."

Jack still didn't believe that that meant it'd been rape though. How could he love people who were bad?

"However, that's _not_ what's happening here," Sam said. "Your family, they're not hurting each other."

"It doesn't hurt," Jack argued, bothered that Sam had used such an incorrect word to describe his experience.

Or… maybe it had hurt.

"I know, and Dean'll tell you more about that later, but your… other dads," Sam said, trying out the last word for the first time, not seeming entirely sure if it fit, "they're okay with this."

"Is it sex?" Jack asked, wishing he could just understand instead of having his two dads look at him with barely concealed pity.

"Love is more than that - it can be," Sam said. "And you know, sometimes things are just sex, and that's okay too. Remember what I said about the difference between sex and rape?"

Jack cringed at the last word, and it seemed like his dad wanted to do the same.

"One is bad," he responded.

"So, um… Dean and Castiel, are uh…"

"What Sam's trying to say," Castiel continued when Sam trailed off, seeming unable to go on, "is that we're not hurting each other, and we both entered into this willingly. I know perhaps it's not the best timing, but…" His father sighed, eyes drawing away from his. "It was hard, hearing what they did to you, Jack, hard seeing all that happened. I love you so much that it's… it's done something to me, just like this has done something to you, and Dean's trying to help me with it."

For a long while, Jack was quiet, processing. If anything, he felt the sting of jealousy, but it soon faded when he remembered Sam's words about Jack being too young to consent to sex. So he knew why he couldn't have it, knew why it was off limits, knew in some way that he was hurt, but this was… new.

"So you're…" Jack paused, trying to think of the word, trying to remember people he'd seen before he'd been captured by the angels. "You're a couple?"

"Yes, Jack, we're a couple."

Then something came to him, something he hadn't thought about before, and he blurted out the question before he could stop himself, "Were my mom and dad a couple?"

Jack was met with a very extreme response. Sam huffed, almost growled, and there was some lingering hurt and anger that Jack thought felt similar to his own, and Castiel's eyes went wide, his jaw dropping open as he looked at Sam for what to say.

"No," Sam eventually answered, voice rough. "No, they weren't, but that's… I don't think it's my place to tell you."

"Cas?" Jack questioned, wondering what had gotten his dads suddenly riled up.

Castiel was still looking at Sam pleadingly, so Jack looked to him, and Sam shrugged at his other dad, and soon they were just communicating with facial expressions, Jack pivoting his head back and forth, trying to follow.

Eventually, Castiel cleared his throat, shifted in his seat, and responded, "Your mother was very happy to bring you into the world. That's all that matters. She loves you."

Still a tad unsure about this whole couple business, but realizing it could be for the best if it brought the rest of his family some happiness, Jack decided to just drop it. Besides, his head was taken up with too many other things to really think more on it.

* * *

The rest of the day was long and tiring, and at one point he locked himself up in the bathroom, refusing to come out because fear of the Room was squeezing his heart and being injected right into his blood. Jack hit himself while he sat on the floor, crying, but Dean picked the lock, and tried to take care of him from there.

Jack ate lunch, which was just half a grilled cheese sandwich, but he refused dinner, his stomach feeling much too full.

There were no more awful or confusing conversations till bedtime. He was with Dean now, trying to voice that strange emotion he still couldn't put a word to. His dad was on his laptop, seeming pretty intent on what he was doing, a glass of some amber-colored liquid by him that Jack wasn't allowed to drink, but judging by his facial expressions, he was paying attention to him.

"So let's go through it again," Dean said. "From all this," he began, gesturing vaguely to refer to all that Jack had been through, "you've felt confused, mad, afraid, sad, and…"

Jack shrugged when he realized Dean was waiting for him to go on. "I don't know."

"You think maybe you feel ashamed?" he guessed.

"Ashamed?"

Dean closed his laptop and pushed it aside, fulling engaging in the conversation. "Yeah, it's kinda like when you're embarrassed. Say I did something stupid, right, like, I don't know, loaded my gun wrong, that'd be embarrassing."

"So it's about making a mistake?"

"Eh, not quite. See, shame, it's like embarrassment, but blown up to this." Dean held his arms out rather wide as an example, and even made a funny noise with his mouth to mimic an explosion. Jack laughed at it. "Shame you can feel from a few things; because you did something wrong - and that one I feel all too often - or something wrong was done to you. I know this is all confusing for you, but deep down, you know what happened was wrong."

"But-"

"Ah-ah, nope. Don't think about this one. Feel this one. So you've got that heavy feeling in your chest, right? Makes you wanna go crawl under the covers and not let anybody see you, am I right?"

Jack nodded.

"That's shame. Your heart knows that something wrong was done to you, even if your head can't catch up. Here, you gotta listen to your heart, but also listen to what I'm about to tell you: you have nothing to be ashamed of. You're gonna feel it, you're gonna feel it a lot - trust me, I've been doing research on this shit all day - but it doesn't mean anything about you. You got that?"

"Maybe."

"You try saying it."

"Shame doesn't mean anything about me."

"Yeah, feels funny to say it, I know. So you gotta keep tellin' yourself that, you gotta believe in it."

"What if I don't? What if I'm… bad?"

Dean gave him a gentle smile, and he answered, "Listen, kid, I've seen bad. I've _been_ bad. You, you're not that. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But I did."

Dean gestured with his hand, grabbing his drink. "Alright, spill, kid. What'd you do?"

"It's what I didn't do," he responded, watching as Dean finished off what was in the glass. "I didn't save Heaven."

"Look, that ain't your responsibility. You know whose responsibility that is? The angels, or hell, even God. It's not anyone's right to put that on you. You didn't ask to be born, you didn't ask to be kidnapped. You're part archangel, but that doesn't mean you owe Heaven anything. You know who you do owe? Yourself. You gotta look out for you. You ain't bad for doin' that. Heaven isn't your responsibility."

"Then why did they kidnap me?"

"Because they were wrong. I know you probably got this whole thing going in your head, trying to figure out who's good, who's bad - hell, I do too sometimes, but even if you don't think they're bad, they were wrong to take you away."

"Because they raped me?"

Dean winced, but answered, "That, and taking anyone from their home is bad."

"But I ran away."

"You did. You were trying to protect us. You're a good kid, okay? So even though you feel this-this shame, you gotta know that that ain't on you. You might hate me saying this, but you're the victim here. You gotta allow yourself that. You gotta hurt before you can get better."

"That's stupid."

"Unbelievably stupid," Dean agreed. "But I didn't make the rules. That's just how we're wired. You got a problem, take it up with your grandfather."

"Your dad?"

Dean held back a laugh, and answered, "No, the other one."

"Ah. God."

"Ah, God," Dean repeated, now studying his glass as if he wanted more to drink.

"So you love Castiel?" Jack asked.

Dean firmly placed the glass down. "Who told you that?"

"Castiel."

Dean's cheeks went red, and he scratched at the back of his neck. "I don't know. He… He's been by my side for years. I just… I can't really explain it. He's… different."

"Because he's an angel?"

"Nah, 'cause he's Cas."

"And you're allowed to love an angel?"

"This angel is my friend, _not_ my enemy," he explained.

Figuring this would just turn into an argument if he said that Nathaniel and Anael weren't his enemies either, Jack said nothing more. After some silence, Dean went on, "You can talk about 'em, you know. I'm not gonna get mad at you."

"You're judging me," Jack reasoned. "You all are."

"No, we're judging them. Got it? We care about you, Jack, and those people, they touched you. That's not something I'm gonna let slide, so yeah, I'm judging them. But you? You survived. Besides, I knew Anael too. It's okay to like people who aren't good. We can't help it sometimes. Sam's been there, I've been there. Not like you, of course, but I get it. You find qualities in them that you hang on to, things that they did for you that you were grateful for during a whole lotta bad. I admit I can't see it, but this isn't about me. So you ever feel like you wanna tell someone about Nathaniel, or Anael? I'm right here. Sam too, and Cas."

"Cas killed her."

"You know that was an accident. You're not dumb."

"I know," he admitted, words faint, almost non-existent. It wasn't a truth he liked to admit. Being mad at Cas was easy. He was there. He'd thrown the blade.

Being mad at the situation, something that couldn't be touched or spoken to, was a whole lot harder.

"It's late," Dean eventually said. "You should head off to bed. Get a few hours."

"Not tired."

Dean stood at that, and pushed his chair in. There was a playful edge to his dad's voice as he said "Cool, then you won't mind helping me rearrange all the books in the library by this new coding system Sam set up."

That was all Jack needed to hear. He too stood up and pushed his chair in.

"Goodnight."

"Night, kiddo."


	28. The Birds and the Bees

**WARNING: This chapter contains suicidal thoughts.**

* * *

"Why not?" Ariel questioned for the umpteenth time.

"I've already told you," Duma explained, "that using his Grace could create complications."

She had approached Duma in her office and seemed none too happy that certain sections of Heaven had been put under lockdown, and that those sections in particular were all the rooms that had to do with Jack.

"Complications? Anael seemed perfectly fine before that traitor stuck a blade in her."

"We've lost angels, Ariel, and all in the fight to save us. If we make any decisions now instead of waiting they will be the _wrong_ decisions."

"But-"

"I've heard enough. Leave me."

Ariel clenched her jaw, and huffed out a breath through her nose, but left, and Duma was hoping she would cool down instead of taking matters into her own hands. Heaven had to wait before they could rebuild. Doing anything that involved Jack, or what he'd given them - no, what they'd taken from him - at the moment, seemed risky. The Winchesters were still out there, and they were far from forgiving when it came to their family. So now it was Duma's time to protect her family.

* * *

The day had passed with Jack crying, napping from sheer exhaustion only to wake in a nightmare, refusing his lunch, and even water, and it wasn't till Jack was sleeping once more, that Sam, Dean, and Castiel sat down to discuss their son.

"I don't even know what to freakin' do with him," Dean admitted about Jack. Castiel sat by him, his arm touching his brother's, and it made Sam almost smile.

"I called Mia Vallens," Sam informed them. "Jack's got an appointment on Monday."

"And you did this without telling us?" Dean asked.

"Look, he needs help. I'm just trying to reach out where I can. Admit it, we're not the right people for this job. He's barely sleeping, he hardly eats, he's all confused. Sometimes I'm not sure he even knows where he is," Sam said. "Has he… Has he done that thing where he…?" He trailed off, and demonstrated by holding out his wrists.

His brother and his friend nodded.

"He was chained up quite a lot," Castiel informed them. "Perhaps he feels awkward without them."

Dean murmured a startled, "That's fucked up."

"So I'm taking him to see Mia," Sam said resolutely. "You can come if you want, but I'll do this on my own if I have to."

"Maybe we should stay behind," Dean said. "The angels are still out there, and could still want him just as badly. We gotta fortify the bunker."

"If they are still out there," Castiel began, "then, Sam, I should go with you. You can't stand up to angels on your own, especially not when you have Jack to look after."

Dean frowned, grabbing Castiel's hand. "Wait, you're leaving again?"

"Dean, it'll only be for a little while. I'll be fine. I'll have Sam with me."

His brother let out a sigh, and slumped in his seat, clearly not happy about being separated. Sam didn't blame him. They'd just gotten Cas back _again_ , and now he was heading off once more.

"I'll take care of him, Dean," Sam promised.

He hoped he could. It was the best he could do for his brother and his friend at the moment. Sam was still pleasantly surprised that they were together, but it didn't seem as if much had changed since then. The two still interacted in the same way, with Sam being the victim of watching their stupidly long moments of staring, except there was contentment there now where there had once been desperation. He supposed it was only natural it'd happened, though Sam had a million and one questions about Dean's sexuality. It wasn't the time to ask though. His brother had always seemed… different. Not bad different, but it was clear he'd always been hiding stuff. Maybe it was good that he was finally coming around to trusting who he was a little more.

Dean cracked a smile, seeming amused that Sam, a human, said he would look after an angel. But he just leaned into Cas, seeming a little more calm at Sam's words.

"In the meantime, what do we do with him?" Dean asked.

"You still gotta give him the sex talk," Sam reminded him.

"For the record, I hate you." Castiel seemed as if he was going to break out into a laugh despite the tense circumstances, so Dean added, "Both of you."

* * *

Eyes heavy, exhaustion weighing him down, but nightmares grasping at his skin, Jack was in the armory with Dean, helping him clean his guns. He still wasn't quite sure about what he was doing, but he was glad he was able to help his dad and listened to all of his instructions. Sam had talked to him that day, letting him know he was taking him to Wisconsin to see someone who could help. Jack wasn't sure what to make of it, and thinking about leaving plunged a hot stone into his stomach, but he didn't argue. Arguing was bad. Cooperation was what made his time in Heaven easier, so he was going to keep being cooperative, as much as he could be.

"So Sam and Cas want me to talk to you," Dean began, voice a tad low, cheeks flushed pink.

Jack put the shotgun down, along with the cleaning rod, and waited for his dad to go on. He was still greatly focused on his task, but something was off.

"Is this about sex?" he ventured, remembering what Sam had promised Dean would talk to him about.

His dad put down his gun and materials as well, heaving out, "Oh boy. Yeah, yep. It's uh… It's about that. So uh, you wanna tell me what you know or think you know? That way I can know where to start."

So Jack thought back to playtime, the mechanics of it. There was a hollow feeling in his gut, that gave way to slight pressure. It was hot, making him feel pleasantly light-headed. He tried to quell the feeling the memories of… His mind told him _playtime_ , but he remembered that was wrong. Sex? But Sam had said it hadn't been sex. It'd been that weird word: _rape_. But yes, he tried to get rid of the feelings. They weren't good.

So Jack told Dean what he knew, and soon his dad was filling in information for him, explaining the different body parts, what everything was supposed to do. It was when they got to one word that Jack found himself confused.

"Reproductive?" he asked, repeating the word, after Dean had said _reproductive organs_.

His dad chewed his bottom lip, eyes going a little wide.

"Uh… yeah, yeah. So… um, shit, hold on." Dean stood, pointing a finger at Jack as he said, "You, you stay here. I'll be back."

So Jack waited.

* * *

 _Shit, shit, shit,_ Dean thought, making his way out of the armory to go find Castiel and Sam. He had his phone out, texting them in their group chat as well, saying he needed them for something. Cas got to him first, finding him in the library.

"What is it?" he asked. "I got your message."

"Yeah, I might've fucked up," Dean responded.

"What'd you do?" Sam asked, coming from the war room.

"I may have been trying to talk to Jack about sex?" he began, rubbing at the back of his head. Castiel put an arm around him, just to get close, but it didn't lessen the anxiety he felt bubbling through him.

"And?" his brother prompted.

"I uh, used the word _reproductive_."

"But that's the right..." Sam began, and then stopped himself, eyes going wide, coming to the same realization Dean had. "Oh shit."

"He did once ask me where babies come from," Castiel informed them. "I think he was curious about Anael."

"Great," Dean muttered sarcastically. "Just great. We can't… we can't just tell him, can we? If he knows what the word means he could figure everything else out."

"But maybe we have to tell him," Sam said. "He has a right to know."

"But he's just a kid," Castiel argued.

"Is he gonna flip out on us?" Dean questioned. "We've been keeping this from him for a few days now. He might not take it well."

"How about, you talk to him," Sam began, "and Cas and I, we can try to get things to cheer him up."

"Cheer him up? Do you even hear yourself? I'm about to tell our kid that _he_ had a kid, and now she's dead."

"Dean, I've been doing some research," Castiel said, "perhaps Sam and I could prepare, get him some things to comfort himself with."

"So I'm dropping the bomb, and you guys are the clean-up crew?"

Sam gave Dean an uneasy look, and shrugged. "Guess so?"

"Fun." He gave Cas a quick kiss on the cheek, enjoying the feel of his stubble scraping at his lips, and then he left saying, "If you find my body, just kick it out the door so I'm not in the way."

* * *

Jack hadn't realized that he'd picked the first layer of skin from his pointer finger on his left hand, until Dean re-entered the room. Though his hand was already healing, he hid it under the table.

"Jack, you wanna go on a walk?" Dean asked. Resolutely, he stood, and then his dad had his hands out. "Whoa, look, you can say no if you want to. That is allowed."

He frowned, trying to think it over. He could say no?

"I…"

"What do you want to do? We can stay here, finish up, we could go on a walk, or we could even just sit in your room if you're more comfortable there, but I figured you might want some fresh air. You've been cooped up in here for a bit."

"I don't know," he answered, realizing he didn't know what he wanted. It'd been awhile since anyone had cared about what he wanted. He supposed a walk didn't sound terrible. But being outside, when the trees were bare, leaves dead on the ground, would make him miss the Garden.

Jack looked at the stone and tile walls around him, and realized he missed the Garden anyway.

"I want to go on a walk."

"Great, then let's go."

He and Dean grabbed their jackets, leaving their work for later, and his dad took him on a path that seemed well-trodden. It led away from the bunker, away from the road. For a second, it seemed odd being outside, and he kept looking around him, jumping when twigs snapped beneath his feet or from the crunch of leaves. But there were no angels around. Dean even lifted up his jacket and showed Jack where he had his angel blade, and let him know that he'd told Sam and Cas where they'd be.

"So you had a question earlier," his dad began. "And I'm gonna answer it for you, but I want you to know it's gonna bring up a lot. You might not like me after, might not like any of us, or you might not like the angels. Point is, it's not simple. It's gonna be a lot to process and I need you to be brave."

"Where are Sam and Cas?" Jack questioned, wondering where his other parents were if this was something so big.

"They're getting ready to take care of you after. You're gonna be okay."

"So what does that word mean?" Jack asked, almost wanting to swallow up the sentence that left his mouth. There was a tingle in the air, something that told him he wouldn't be able to go back from this day.

The path they were on left the woods, leading to a meadow of brittle grass that Dean started walking through with him. Jack looked up at the sky, imagining he could see far above, to what had been his home for a month and a half. He wondered if the angels were somehow looking down at him, judging him for his failure, wanting him back.

"So _reproductive_ \- _reproduce_ \- same thing, basically, it means to kind of, create something, create life. What I was tellin' you about, that's what uh, what all that's for. It's how humans make more humans, basically."

"So people have sex to make humans?"

"Well, babies, and there are plenty of reasons to have sex, aside from just that. It's not always all about creating life. It can be about exploring something, someone, taking care of each other. Look, I'm not a biology teacher or anything, but if you got questions-"

"So how are babies made?" he asked, trying to understand what his dad was saying. It was making him think of Anael.

"Look, you know the mechanics, right?" Jack nodded as a response to Dean's question. "So what I was talking about before, about reproductive organs, they're different between the two sexes: male and female. So with you, me, Sam, Cas - our organs are on the outside, but someone like Anael, her organs are on the inside. If you're interested I can give you names and diagrams later, but that's why Anael looks different than you, or why any of the angels in female vessels did, or do look different than you…"

And the explanation carried on like this, Dean actually telling him the name for different parts on his body, explaining what an adult male body did, such as arousal and ejaculation - which was another odd word he wasn't sure he liked. It was a long-winded explanation marked by Dean's discomfort, and they had cut across the meadow and back during it.

"So Anael was pregnant…" Jack intoned, thinking very hard about everything he'd learned.

"Uh huh."

"So the man who gets the woman pregnant is the father?"

"Biologically, yes, which just means the baby is related by blood. But that doesn't make 'em family. I mean, look at me. You're my kid, but I never touched your mom. I had a dad who wasn't really my dad. You've met him. Bobby, but in our universe, he was different, still rough around the edges, but he looked after me when my dad didn't."

Jack was still wondering hard about… sex. Yes, that was the proper word, not _playtime_. Sex, and rape, and babies, and Heaven needing him. There was something in his head that wanted to be told, a thought that wanted to come to light, but it wasn't happening.

"Someone had sex with Anael and got her pregnant," he said aloud, trying to figure this out for himself.

"Yep."

A chill ran through him, and he stopped walking, something cold and uncomfortable coming to mind. No, that couldn't be possible. Babies were made by adults. He wasn't an adult. But his body…

Dean realized he had stopped walking, and turned back to him, taking his hands out of his pockets, hand hovering near his shoulder. He leaned down, looking into his face, "Kid, you alright?"

Head spinning, Jack sat down, doing it so suddenly that the motion hurt. Dean was holding his shoulders now, pulling him close.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay. Breathe. Can you breathe for me?"

He inhaled sharply, realized that his lungs were pounding because he hadn't taken a breath in.

"Alright, alright, keep doin' that. There we go."

Dean was kneeling by him, one hand holding Jack's face to his chest, and he rocked him gently. Jack didn't know what was happening to him. His entire body was numb, as if it wasn't real, as if he wasn't, and he could barely see. Thoughts were pounding through his head, all of them moving so rapidly he could barely hold onto one before it slipped from his fingers. Images bombarded him, faces, blood, bodies. It was his captivity, but out of order. One moment he was getting his head drilled into, the next he was with Anael, then he was on Earth with the bad person hurting his head, then he was with Nathaniel getting chained up, then he was Cael, then there was a white door, and utter black took him. He held onto Dean with all he had, shuddering, feeling tears trailing down his face.

"It's okay, Jack. It's fine, everything's fine. I'm here."

But everything wasn't fine.

Anael.

The baby.

Anael lying dead, Jack holding her, her blood on his hands, the baby's blood.

" _Anael, it's me. It's Jack. If… If you get up I'll-I'll eat. I'll… I'll do anything. I'll play with you, I'll make you laugh, I'll even say hi to your baby._ "

" _Hi, Jack._ "

" _Hello._ "

" _I'm Anael._ "

Anael let Jack touch her stomach, and he swore even now he could feel the roundness against his hand. The baby.

Whose baby? Whose baby?

Jack knew whose baby.

"I don't understand!" Jack yelled out, and Dean held him more tightly. "I-I d-don't _understand_!"

Jack didn't understand.

How could they-? How could she-? How could anyone-? Why?

Why, why, why, why, _why_?

"I don't understand!"

He just wanted someone to help him, someone to take him far away from this.

"No, no, no, no, no!"

"I know, kid. I know. I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry."

Why hadn't she told him? Why had they all let him wonder?

"No, they didn't! They didn't! Dean, you're lying! You're _lying_!"

That had to be it. It was the only explanation. His dad was lying to him.

He ended up hitting Dean repeatedly, and his dad just grunted through it, holding him, trying to tell him it was going to be alright.

He shoved him off, screaming, "You're a liar!"

"Jack, I wouldn't lie to you."

"They didn't! Sam said they raped me - they didn't rape me! And now you're telling me… You're telling me…"

"Jack, I'm so sorry."

"No, they didn't. Someone else."

Even Jack didn't like that idea, didn't like to picture Anael playing with someone else. She'd loved him. She'd loved him, she'd loved him, she'd loved him, and Jack loved her. She wouldn't…

"No, no, no!"

"Jack-"

"Shut up!"

"Jack, listen to me-"

"I said _shut up_!"

With his scream a huge burst was released from him, Dean falling backwards, air completely knocked out of him. All the grass flattened in a circle around him, and the energy traveled through to the surrounding trees. Deep, groaning cracks sounded, and then those trees began to fall, slowly, old wooden limbs collapsing to the ground. But Jack didn't care about the trees, he was already by Dean's side to see if he was alright.

His dad's eyes were closed, and he lay motionless, too still.

"No, no! Dean!" He grabbed him, shook him, trying to get him to wake up, and he was reminded of holding Anael. His tears fell harder, and he could no longer see. "Dean, wake up! _Dean!_ Ple-ease, don't you leave me too. No, no, no! Dean!" But his dad wasn't moving, and Jack lay his head against his chest, a scream leaving him. "I-I'm sorry. I'm s-sorry. Please, I'm sorry. Wake up, Dean. Wake up. _Wake up!_ "

There was movement against his forehead, but just barely, and he pressed his ear to his dad's chest, listening to some sharp, rattling sound.

He was still with him.

Jack dug through Dean's pockets for his phone, and found Sam's number.

"Dean, what's up? Everything go okay?"

"Sam, it's Dean!" Jack cried. "H-h-he won't wake up. I did it. I hurt him. I-I did-didn't mean to. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

He couldn't get any more words out, sobbing, but he heard Sam tell him to stay on the phone, saying he'd be there with Cas as soon as possible.

Jack tried waking up Dean in the minutes that passed, and continued crying to Sam on the phone.

His fault. All his fault.

He wanted to run away again.

But he'd run away, and then the angels… The angels…

Maybe he could just die. If he was dead he couldn't hurt anyone. If he was dead he couldn't hurt.

He was still hugging Dean by the time Sam and Cas were running over to them. Sam pulled Jack away as gently as possible, and Castiel was beside Dean, holding his face in his hands.

"He's alive," Cas breathed.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Sam asked, holding Jack to him.

Castiel closed his eyes, and pressed his hand to Dean's forehead. A golden light came from him, and it made Jack huddle back against Sam. There was a ringing, Castiel's Grace, and Jack squeezed his eyes shut, tense, waiting for the inevitable pain that came from the angels. But his father didn't hurt him.

Dean took in a huge gasp of air, his eyes opening. Castiel sighed, and Jack fell from Sam's arms, on his hands and knees by his dad.

"God, kid, you really pack a punch," Dean groaned.

"I-I didn't mean to, I'm sorry!"

Sam gripped his shoulder, probably trying to make him feel alright, but Jack didn't feel alright.

"No harm done."

That was a lie. Jack knew it, they all knew it. He hugged Dean hard, and even let Castiel pull him close, just as he pulled Dean close. But then he once more escaped into Sam's embrace.

Death. Could he do it? Could he kill himself?

Jack realized he didn't know how. Besides, he'd miss this, miss Sam, miss all of them.

But he needed to protect them.

It was all too much, and he cried more, realizing he didn't know what to do.

"I got you," Sam assured. "I got you."

And he didn't let go of him as the four of them all walked back to the bunker. Jack was startled when none of them kept their distance, but he said nothing. His head was full, full of sensation, memories, images, sounds, information. He didn't like it. He wanted to get rid of it, throw it all away, and start over.

Or maybe it would've been easier if he'd never existed.

But who to blame for that? Lucifer or his mom?

Lucifer.

That sounded good.

He was evil.

Jack was evil.

He deserved to hurt like this.

So he ignored Sam and Castiel as they tried to help him, tried to get him to watch _Star Wars_ , tried to give him nougat, tried to keep him occupied by shopping online for some new clothes for him, and Sam even presented him with a stuffed porg. Jack just threw it against the wall once he was alone in his room, and sat on his bed, tense, trying to resist the urge to hit himself. He caved, and smashed his fists against his ribs, smashed hard, over and over, trying to feel what he'd done to Dean. But Jack couldn't replicate it. As much as it ached, he remained conscious and breathing.

Why was he still breathing?

Sam came back in his room, with water this time, and still with nougat. When he saw what he was doing, he hurriedly put what he was holding down on his desk, and rushed over to him, taking his hands, even when he fought with him.

"Hey, hey, hey! Jack, it's okay."

" _It's not,_ " he responded.

"Just try to breathe with me, okay? I've been doing some research, so we're gonna try something new, but you gotta work with me."

Jack tried pulling away, but Sam held him tightly.

"Jack, this is going to help you. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Jack didn't care much if Sam was about to hurt him. Surely he deserved to hurt, surely he'd had enough of it for it to become meaningless.

But Sam walked him through the exercise nonetheless, and it wasn't till he was saying it through for the fifth time that Jack actually bothered to do it: breathe in to the count of four, hold his breath for four, breathe out for four, and hold for four. He repeated it, Sam's grip on him softening, and eventually all the thoughts in Jack's head stopped racing.

Then he felt nothing. He looked up at Sam, not sure how to explain what it felt like to be nothing, but wanting help, wanting help like he'd never wanted it before.

"I got something we can try. There's some ice in the freezer, you want to go in the bathroom and throw it against the shower wall? You get to break stuff without actually breaking stuff."

"Sam, why did the angels capture me?" Jack asked, his words not feeling like his own, his voice belonging to someone else.

"How much did Dean tell you?"

"He told me…" No, he couldn't continue. He pulled his hands away from Sam, and turned from him, glancing at where he'd thrown the stuffed porg. It seemed to be looking at him sadly, so he went over, and picked it up, trembling hands holding it to his chest. "Anael's baby… Were they my baby?"

Sam sniffled, his upper lip trembling, and he had tears in his eyes as he answered, "Yes, Jack."

And so he felt something inside of him fall, fall and break, never to be repaired.

His baby.

His baby.

"Boy or girl?"

Sam's mouth did a bunch of odd things, frowning, smiling, pouting, and it seemed like he was trying to hold himself together.

"Girl."

He took one hand off of the porg, staring hard at it. There'd been blood on his hand a few days ago, not just Anael's blood, but the blood of… of his baby, his baby girl.

"I don't understand," he murmured.

At this point Jack didn't know what he didn't understand. There was too much that hurt, too much that didn't make sense.

For some reason, he felt some small sense of relief, when Sam told him, "Neither do I."

And then Jack was hugging Sam hard, the stuffed porg forgotten, falling to Sam's lap.

A girl.

A daughter.

Gone.

Jack hadn't even wanted a daughter, hadn't even considered it, was still very new to the world, too new for any of this.

"Sam, I just want to forget," he admitted, voice breaking on the last word.

He wanted to forget all of it, forget the unkindness of humanity before he'd been captured, forget the angels, forget their touches, forget Nathaniel, forget Anael, forget… forget the dead baby girl who hadn't yet been born, forget everything.

"Me too, bud. Me too. But we can't. This, all this, it's part of who you are now. That doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you, doesn't mean you're broken or not you. You're a Kline, but you're also a Winchester."

"I don't feel like either of them. I don't-I don't feel like me. I don't feel like _anyone_."

Sam pulled back, and held Jack's shoulders.

"Hey, you are Jack Kline, son of Kelly Kline, and son of Sam and Dean Winchester, and Castiel. You're not no one."

"I… I want to be," he admitted.

And more of Sam's tears fell.

"Yeah, I get it," he responded quietly. "I really do, Jack. I've been in that place, that place where there's no light, where it's just day after day of life seeing how much it can hurt you, where you're trapped and there isn't a way out. Dean's been there. Cas has been there. So I just want you to know, you are not alone, _ever_. We will be here for you as long as we can. Don't give up on yourself, Jack. Don't quit before you've begun to heal."

"What if I won't heal?"

"You're right, some stuff's permanent. But I tell myself there's more than that. There _is_ more than that."

"How do you know?"

Sam sniffled and squeezed.

"Because I got you, Jack. Because I got you. You know what I always tell myself when the world is too black, too evil? I quote someone else named Sam: ' _There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it's worth fighting for.'_ So you wanna fight with me? You wanna be the good guy?"

"Can the good guys watch _A New Hope_?"

A smile broke out on his dad's face, a silent yes to his question, and for the moment, Jack felt just a little bit okay.


	29. Try to Dry My Eyes for the Fallen

**WARNING: This chapter contains thoughts of self-harm.**

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Castiel asked of Dean, who was in his room on his bed, and on his second bottle of beer. "Experiencing any pain?"

His friend sat at the edge of the bed, until Dean motioned for him to move closer, and then he put an arm around him. It felt nice to have Castiel beside him; he was sturdy.

"Nah, you fixed me up pretty good."

"Dean, it was stupid of us to have you tell him. I should've been the one to do it. You can be damaged."

Dean smirked, and took a sip of the beer, enjoying the bitterness of it.

"Cas, I'm already damaged."

"I'm serious, he could've killed you. By the time we got to you your lungs were collapsing."

"Guess he is dangerous," Dean muttered.

He didn't like what had happened. If anything, he felt like it proved what he'd thought of Jack before, that they should do away with him. But those thoughts were cropping up without his consent. He didn't _want_ to have those thoughts. It wasn't Jack's fault that he was so dangerous, and it wasn't his fault that he was hurting so much. Dean had done his best to be careful with his words, to handle the situation as Sam might've, but it hadn't been enough. Some things just hurt too much.

But he couldn't be mad at him. That'd be like getting mad at a wild animal that attacked because he scared it or something. Jack was powerful, and he could do a lot of damage. What happened wasn't on him.

Still there was that voice in the back of Dean's head, it even took on the gruffness of his father's tone, telling him to do away with him, that they killed monsters, and Jack was a monster. Not human, and dangerous equalled monster. Or so he'd been raised to believe. For years it was what he'd told himself with every squeeze of the trigger.

But now, monsters, good, bad, it was all such a mess, and he just wanted the voice to shut up and leave him be, so that's why he was drinking.

"Doesn't matter, though," he went on. "I'm alive, and Jack's well… not fine, but I ain't gonna take it out on him. I know I'm an asshole, okay? I throw things, I punch people when I don't get my way, I shoot first, ask questions later… But what I was like to Jack before, I can see it now. When you were dead everything was just this exhausting haze, and I saw bad everywhere I looked. I was wrong. I was… Well, I was acting like my dad. And that little kid inside me, the one that I don't think ever got to grow up, he's kinda scared of my dad, so I don't wanna be him. I won't be. Your son deserves better than that."

Castiel grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers. "Dean, _our_ son."

"Yeah, yeah… Just feel like I majorly screwed up today. Like maybe I could've said it a different way, maybe it was too soon, maybe… I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "Just maybe."

"Lots of things are maybes, and what we do or don't do, or how we do something, it's always going to get a reaction, and sometimes that reaction isn't good. But we can't go back and change it."

"Do you wish you could? You know, change all this? Like, maybe if I hadn't been so cruel and messed up to him, he wouldn't have run away."

"Maybe he wouldn't have."

"Huh, so you blame me too," Dean intoned wearily.

He finished his bottle of beer, and was reaching down to grab a third one, when Castiel took his face in his hands.

"No. No, I do not blame you. You know who I do blame? I blame Duma, I blame Cael, I blame every single angel who ever laid a hand on him, who even went near him with ill intent. They're the ones we need to worry about. Not you. You're right, you're an asshole, Dean, and you have your flaws, but so do I. But we're not the bad guys here. _We're not._ "

He held onto Castiel's hand, and then trailed his fingers down to his wrist.

"Is that what you tell yourself, about Anael?"

"It's what I have to believe. Whatever we have done wrong, at least we can end each day _knowing_ that we never touched our son like that. _They did,_ and so help me god, they are going to pay."

Dean felt as if he'd had enough of emotions for one day, so he teased, "I love it when you get all vengeful, you get this nice growl to your voice."

Castiel was then kissing him, climbing over him, and well, Dean didn't think he had to say anything more, though he knew this wouldn't go too far. His angel wasn't ready, still had memories in his head, memories that Dean wanted him to share with him.

"Or maybe my voice is like that because I started thinking about you," he told him when they broke apart.

"Mm, you use that one on all the fellas?"

"Only ones with green eyes and a smart mouth."

"My mouth is good for other things, you know," Dean ventured, wondering if Castiel would let him do what he'd been dying to. Had Dean done it before? Yeah, a couple times, usually for money, so getting to be with someone he trusted, it was different. He wanted to do it. Cas had done it for him, after all.

The angel put a hand at the small of his back, and pulled him against him, and Dean held him tightly, still unable to believe that this was happening. But it felt wrong. How could there be good when so much bad had happened? Was this even real? Were they just so stressed about Jack that they needed to let it out somehow?

"I'm not quite ready for that."

So Dean got a repeat of their first night together, just with less bruising, though he was sure Castiel had left some marks with his teeth, thankfully on his legs and torso where no one else could see. When he continued drinking afterwards, still with Castiel at his side, he wondered when his friend was going to feel better, when any of them were.

"The offer still stands, by the way," he said after finishing his bottle, now feeling buzzed and drowsy.

"What offer? With your mou-"

"The memories."

"Dean, just sleep. You've had a long day."

"Well, come get me if Jack wakes up and needs someone. I don't want Sam to feel like he's the only one on babysitting duty. Besides, the kid's not so bad."

"No, he's not."

Dean felt himself drifting off, and then there was a kiss placed on his forehead. He wondered if he'd be waking soon.

* * *

They made it to Friday night, Dean spending it with Castiel since he'd be away for a few days. The four of them had all sat down to have dinner as a family, and Dean had watched _Rogue One_ with Jack, but it was late now. The kid was hopefully sleeping. And Dean had needed to get out of the bunker, so he and Cas were at a bar in town. Castiel did the most boring thing Dean was sure he'd ever seen him do and ordered water, while Dean was drinking whiskey ginger. Cas didn't see why he had to ruin perfectly good soda by having it mixed with alcohol.

The bar was packed, but he and Cas had gotten a booth in the corner, deciding to keep to themselves.

"What am I gonna do with the bunker all to myself?" he asked, drawn away from Castiel's face for the moment to look at the other patrons. A few gave him nods, recognizing him from when he went out in town and mingled a bit - he liked to keep things friendly in case he ever needed something.

Dean was drawn back to Cas as he answered, "I'm sure you'll find something."

"I should turn all the clothes in Sam's room inside out." Castiel tilted his head at him, his mouth open in an endearing way, a sign that he shouldn't do that. But Dean was still coming up with ideas, "Or I should replace all his belts with too small a size. Ooh, I could fill his room with _paper bags_."

Cas squinted his eyes at him. "I don't understand."

Dean laughed out, "Neither would he!"

"There'll be things to do. You have the extra wardings to work on, more alcohol than I want to leave you with, and a laptop that probably won't mind getting another virus on it from porn."

Dean gave him a sly look. "You been looking at the stuff on my laptop?"

His wide-eyed expression suggested that he had, and he shook his head, perplexed. "I won't pretend to understand some of what turns you on."

"Come on, you think being raised in this life is gonna make someone turn out normal? I got all kinds of weird crap in my head."

"And in your search history. Really? Flogging?"

Dean shrugged, not too bothered that Cas had seen some of what he watched.

"Look, I get the crap beaten out of me for a living, so why not do it for fun, too?" He had a sip of his drink, letting it burn and tingle in his mouth for a bit before swallowing, and then he went on, "Why were you going through my porn anyway?" Castiel's face went pink, and he turned away, and Dean leaned in, lowering his voice, "You trying to figure out how to please me?"

Castiel didn't meet his eyes, hands clenched as he answered very forcefully, "Yes."

Dean pulled back, furrowing his brows. What the hell was this about?

"You're lying."

He was looking back at him now, arguing, "Dean, I'm not-"

He cut him off, "Liar," and then had some more of his drink.

Dean could see that he was right. His best friend's blue eyes were more closed off than usual, and he was clearly all befuddled. Though Dean had a few friends in the bar, he carefully looked around to make sure they weren't being watched before reaching out and taking Castiel's hand, running his thumb over his knuckles.

"Tell me what this is about."

Castiel moved his hand, as if he was about to draw away from him, but then he relaxed.

"I'm trying to understand different things about sex, and sexuality, trying to, I don't know, make sense of what I saw up there."

"Cas, you ain't gonna find the answers you need from a friggin' porno. That shit's fake."

"But so are movies, yet sometimes they have profound messages," he reasoned.

"So you lookin' for profound messages in porn?" Castiel blushed, but didn't look away from him, held his gaze. "Look, you can talk to me about what happened up there."

"I… I don't have the words. I was hoping that some of the videos would show me, and then I could explain it."

"So, find anything?"

He shook his head. "Just that you're also interested in men being sexually humiliated."

Now it was Dean's turn to blush and duck his head. As an excuse to not pay attention to his friend or whatever he was to him now, he finished off his drink, taking it too quickly and letting it hurt. He shook his head, feeling the alcohol making its way languidly through his system - Cas was going to have to drive them home.

"Yeah, uh… Mm, like I said, my head's a little screwed up."

"I don't think it's screwed up. I'm just surprised."

"You're getting better at this compliment stuff," Dean teased. "You went from ' _You're an asshole, Dean_ ,' to ' _You're not screwed up_.' It's a wonder I ever let you into my bed."

Castiel smiled at him. "No, it's not."

Dean suddenly felt like there were eyes on him, so he pulled his hand back, keeping to himself, but Castiel noticed, and hooked his foot underneath his beneath the table. He'd wanted to continue teasing him, call him a _smug son of a bitch_ , but he couldn't do it, not when he was smiling at him like that.

"You know what's weird about all this, the shit with Jack, I mean?"

"What?"

"I can't think of what the angels would've done that you can't explain, and I've seen some shit. But I keep thinking of what Anael said, that she didn't get pregnant when she slept with him. And for awhile I thought - I mean, I didn't want to think about it - but I thought maybe they just had him masturbate-"

"He's not human, Dean," Castiel interrupted. "It takes more than just sperm for the child of an angel to be sired. It takes Grace, it… it takes intent. Or, I suppose, extreme stress, where they gave his body no other choice."

"Anael said we didn't want to know what they did."

"I wish I didn't."

"You talk to Sam about it?"

Cas shook his head. "No, he wouldn't want to hear it. Sam… has his own problems."

"So how do we take care of Jack if he's got this thing to deal with, this thing that you can't even explain?"

"I've been considering going in his head, making him remember. The not eating, the way he just stares at everything, his eyes empty, it's from that awful thing they did to him. If he knew what was upsetting him, maybe he could work on it, and some of the symptoms would go away. I… I remember when he could barely even talk because of it."

"What if we can't handle him afterwards? Or what if he hates us for making him remember?"

"It's harming him; we have to do something."

"Well, let's not do anything till after he gets back, and Sam's gotta be in on it too. But let's forget that stuff for now. You're leaving tomorrow, what do you want to do? Want to work on, you know, how you feel about sex? I'm game."

"Dean, you're always game."

"Ah, not true," he pointed out. "But I am now; anything you want, let's do it."

"I think I'd rather not. RIght now I just can't get the sounds out of my head."

Dean shrugged, not bothered that Castiel didn't want him at the moment. He admitted, he didn't know what it was like to have those things in his head, so it wasn't his job to press him about it. Besides, he was so tired making sure Jack got through each day, that Castiel did, that Sam did, that he didn't have any time to feel things for himself. He wanted an escape, and Cas would be a good one at the moment, a _really_ good one, but if he needed to he could take matters into his own hands.

Dean ordered another drink, and he stayed in the bar with Cas till closing. By then, the angel was the one driving them home. He had memories of Cas pushing him against the wall when they got back to the bunker and kissing him, the feel of his lips against his, and he'd wanted more, but he was too tired, and things didn't seem to be working out. There was a vague memory of seeing Jack, Cas pulling away from him, but after that he didn't have much.

When he woke up late in the morning, he was alone.

* * *

Jack was sitting in the backseat, Castiel was in the passenger seat, and Sam was driving. Dean had let them take the Impala, which brought Jack some comfort since it was familiar too him. But he still hadn't slept well, and after seeing Castiel and Dean together in the middle of the night he'd been stuck, having thoughts of when he'd been with someone too, with Nathaniel, in particular. He'd kept those things to himself, though he was fiddling with Castiel's phone, thinking of calling Dean.

But no, Jack didn't want to talk to Dean.

He'd hurt Dean.

He could hurt any of them.

He spent a lot of his time thinking about what he'd learned, about the life that'd been extinguished, life that he'd helped start.

It didn't make sense.

Why him?

Why had they done it? He'd asked Sam that the other night, but then his thoughts had wandered, trying to picture a baby, and not just the roundness of Anael's stomach.

A baby.

His baby.

Now there was no baby.

Some part of him that he didn't want to give voice to was relieved. Jack didn't know how to take care of kids, didn't even really know how to take care of himself. Her death took responsibility away from him, away from all of them.

He wondered if this was similar to how Dean had felt when he'd first been born. Dean had wanted to get rid of him, and now Jack thought he was right. Certain angels would still be alive, unharmed if he'd never been born, his family would be safe.

And he would've never been captured.

But why had they captured him? It was a question he couldn't let go. Over and over they had said they'd needed him, and he remembered Nathaniel's explanation one time, that him being there helped sustain Heaven. But now…

No, Nathaniel wouldn't have lied to him.

But he'd chained him up that time in the Garden. He'd tricked him.

"Jack, how you doin' back there?" Sam asked.

They'd been on the road for three hours and twelve minutes now and Jack hadn't said anything to either of them except to answer how he was doing.

"I'm fine," he lied, and that ended that.

* * *

The trip took two days, and Jack was too preoccupied with how he felt to bother where they were taking him. But when they got there he recognized his surroundings well enough, and he questioned as they were getting out of the Impala to go into the motel, "Am I going to see Mia Vallens?"

"Yeah, hope that's okay," Sam said.

Jack stood behind him now as he put the key in the lock, and Castiel was by his side.

"Yes, I liked her."

"Good, we think she might be able to help. You'll see her tomorrow morning."

* * *

Tomorrow morning came, and Jack didn't like that he was getting woken up so soon after he'd been able to drift off. He shook the image of a white door from his mind, and the impenetrable darkness it brought over him, and got dressed.

Eating breakfast that day wasn't exactly easy, especially since he'd been trying to make his portions slightly larger. His bacon was tough and tasteless, and his eggs and blueberry muffin weren't much better.

His father and his dad kept checking up on him to make sure he was doing okay, kept trying to talk about things that they knew he liked, but it was glaringly obvious that they all sensed the hurt deep down in him. It made Jack withdraw, and he asked for Castiel's phone, and went outside to call Dean. He made sure he stayed by the window where Sam and Castiel could see him.

Dean started saying something odd upon answering, so Jack quickly interrupted, "It's Jack."

His dad cleared his throat. "Oh, um, my bad. Cas gave you his phone?"

"Yeah."

"Well, don't look at his texts. I uh… Nevermind, what's up?"

"I'm going to see Mia Vallens."

"Uh huh, you nervous?"

"A little."

"You know what I do when I'm nervous?"

"Drink?" Jack suggested, knowing his dad all too well.

"Fine, yeah, I do that, but I was gonna say that you look at the situation. So you're going to see Mia, and she's gonna try and help you, right?"

"Mm hmm."

"You thinking about Nathaniel and Anael?"

"And the baby," Jack added after a pause.

"Okay, okay. That's fine. But look at it this way, you're seeing someone nice, and some things might be a little hard, but this isn't your worst day. As far as I'm concerned, you've survived your worst days. You got this, kid."

"Thanks, Dean."

"Oh, and when you give Cas his phone back, tell him to let me know if he uh, if he got my texts."

"I will."

He hurried back into the diner after hanging up, gave Cas his phone back and told him Dean's message, and then tried to focuse on finishing his food - he had half his muffin left. Cas was blushing, looking at his phone while tilting it away so none of them could see, and Jack wondered what his dad had sent his father but decided to not ask. Sam was watching, lips turned up in amusement.

"Solicited or unsolicited?" Sam asked, confusing Jack. Somehow his other dad seemed to know what was going on.

"It's… It's fine," Cas got out. "Just um… Does he always do this?"

Sam shrugged. "He hasn't been with anyone in awhile, so I don't know."

"What did Dean do?" Jack finally asked, giving up on his food - it was too dry and crumbly anyway.

"Nothing," Castiel quickly answered.

Sam followed up with, "An adult thing. Think Dean's definitely bored." His dad finished up his coffee, and then asked, "You ready to go?"

Jack forced himself to take one more bite of his muffin, and then nodded his head.

* * *

Mia Vallens' office was much as he'd remembered, though the carpet was different. He remembered there being blood on it when he'd last seen it, so maybe she'd had to change it. Sam volunteered to go in with him, but Jack wanted to do this on his own. His parents and Mia talked privately for a bit afterwards, the discussion seeming tense, but finally, he was alone with her.

Over breakfast he thought he knew exactly what he'd be asked, or what he wanted to say, what he wanted to tell someone, but now that the only sound in the room was the clock ticking, he found he was speechless.

"So Jack," she began, crossing her legs, "your situation is… abnormal compared to the usual cases I deal with. I'm telling you this because I want you to know what you're getting into. I can take the shape of the people you might need to say goodbye to, but this isn't going to fix everything. I don't have all the proper training to help you, and I'm sorry. From what Sam tells me you've had a harrowing experience."

"Do you _always_ take the shape of the person who died?"

"Not always. Sometimes my patients just need to talk. Is that what you need?"

Jack frowned, and focused hard on the door that he sat across from. It was closed for privacy, and he'd been assured that Sam and Cas were right outside if he needed them.

"I don't think they want me to talk about it. Sam and Cas, I mean, even Dean. It hurts them, and I'm trying to understand it, but I can't."

"They're caring for you, so seeing you like this must be hard for them," she reasoned.

"But I feel like they're… mad."

"They could be."

"At me?"

"I don't think so. The people you miss, you had a complicated relationship with each of them."

"There's something else," Jack said, hating how loud his voice sounded in the too-still room. "I…"

"Why don't you start by telling me their names?"

Jack didn't know why, but that almost made him smile. Mia sounded genuinely interested, and there was none of that tension he got from his parents.

"Well, there was Nathaniel," Jack answered. "And Anael. And…" He swallowed roughly, feeling the ache in his throat that told him he was about to cry. Why? He'd never met her, he hadn't known, he… "A baby girl. She died before being born. Anael was pregnant. But I don't know why I'm sad. I only knew two people, not three. She… She didn't even have a name yet."

"Sometimes grief isn't always what we expect it to be," Mia explained. "There's grief from losing people when they pass away, but there are other types of grief too. It's possible to even grieve someone still alive. Change brings about grief, because with change there's a loss of something. What you're grieving with this baby girl is the loss of possibility. Sometimes that one is harder to deal with because it's not something we can really see or put a face to. It's the sudden extinguishing of hope, of expectation."

"I wanted to meet her." There was a long silence, Mia waiting for Jack to take the reins, and he went on, "Castiel, he's the one that did it. He killed Anael, killed the baby. H-he didn't mean it, I know he didn't mean it, but I want to hate him."

"His actions took people from you. That's a powerful feeling, and not something you can forget. Anger is a normal part of grief. Do you know what anger is, Jack?"

"An emotion."

"Yes, but it's a secondary emotion. It's an emotion that always stems from something else. Anger cannot live on its own. There has to be a reason for it, and sometimes another emotion fueling it. To treat the anger we have to treat where it came from. It's true, that in the moment, there are ways to calm anger, certain exercises that can be done, but anger can come from a need not being met, from something wrong being done to you, from sadness. Take Dean for instance, he was angry the last time I saw him because he'd just lost people. To him, anger is like a shield. He's a very hurt person, and his only way of dealing is taking it out on those around him. But anger is normal. You went through something Jack, you lost people. That's real. You might be judging yourself for how you feel about Castiel for him taking away someone from you, but it's a normal reaction. I'd be worried if you weren't angry."

"But it's not his fault," Jack reasoned, not sure why he was trying to argue something he felt so strongly.

"And this is what we call _reasonable mind_. So the way we work mentally, is that we're separated into three different states of being. There's reasonable mind, emotional mind, and wise mind. What you're struggling with now is the clash of reasonable mind and emotional mind. Your emotional mind is telling you these people are gone and that it hurts and that someone should be to blame for it, and your reasonable mind is telling you that Castiel is not at fault. Wise mind would be a joining of the two, where you recognize your grief, but are able to accept what happened and are not angry with Castiel."

"Is that what you're going to try to help me with?"

She gave him a sad smile, and answered, "I wish I could, but that's not my area. I'm a grief counselor, not a therapist, or a trauma specialist. In school, I learned about what I just taught you, which is a factor of treatment called _dialectical behavioral therapy_ , but I'm not properly trained. It's my job to help you say goodbye, or to talk through the experience of their deaths.

"Dying is hard for the people who get left behind. You might find this silly, but I heard a quote from a TV show once, that goes like this: ' _...the day you lose someone isn't the worst. At least you've got something to do. It's all the days they stay dead._ ' It's that point of trying to move on without them, to readjust to what they left behind. And from what I hear, they left you with a lot of hurt."

"I loved them."

"And do you know what that means, Jack?" He shook his head. "It means you did what you had to to survive. These people, they weren't always bad to you, am I correct?" A nod. "Loving them got you through. It's okay to honor that. It's okay to miss them."

Jack didn't know why, but he found that he couldn't speak. He tried opening his mouth to say something, but tears fell, and a sob caught in his throat. Mia helpfully handed him a box of tissues, and Jack had been so used to wiping his tears away with his hand or catching them on his sleeve, that at first he didn't know what to do with the box. First he used one tissue, clenching it in his fist when he was done with it, and then another become soaked through.

"I'm sorry," he apologized when he was able to get the words out.

"What are you apologizing for?" she asked, tone thoughtful, as if she was prompting him to think through what he'd said.

Jack sniffled, and wiped at his face one more time before tearfully meeting her gaze.

"I don't know."

"People need to apologize when they've done something wrong. Have you done anything wrong? No, you're simply feeling. You're allowed to feel, Jack."

"But Nathaniel, and Anael, they… Sam said they…"

"It's okay. What did Sam say?"

Jack whispered, tearing at the tissues, staring hard at the floor as the words left him, " _They raped me._ "

"Do you think they did?"

Jack paused, trying to think of how to respond. The facts were lining up in his head, but the emotions, not so much.

"Why do I miss people who hurt me?" he questioned, feeling sick inside, suddenly having the urge to cut it out of him. Maybe he could find one of Sam's knives later…

"Because you went through some scary things, but they didn't always frighten you."

"They didn't. Nathaniel, he brought me my food, and he gave me my baths. He… He made me happy, happy when I wasn't sure I knew how to be."

"And Anael?"

"She was different from the other angels right away," Jack responded. "I don't know why, maybe because she was beautiful. But she… she made me feel like I had someone. She listened to me, she stayed with me a lot, she cared about me. Both of them did. I don't know why they did what Sam says they did, but I know they loved me."

"Sometimes we hurt those we love, and sometimes they hurt us. It's okay to have difficulty coping with that when you're without them anymore."

"Nathaniel… Cas told me he's bad, but I think he tried to help me escape once. I didn't know it at the time, was too… sick, but now I can see it."

"Sometimes after we go through something, and we're given proper time to heal in a safe place, our minds begin to work through what we went through, and as that happens, new memories, and new feelings crop up. Getting better isn't just a straight upward slope, it's more like hills, going up and down over and over again, and even when you're going down, there's still a chance to go up."

He nodded, continuing to rip at the tissue in his lap, even balling up the little pieces. He didn't know why he found himself doing this, but it was easy to put his mind to something small instead of the monstrous task that was dealing with his captivity. Even this little bit, this grief, was something he couldn't precisely understand. He didn't want it, that was for sure. It would be easy if he didn't have it, easy if he hadn't loved them.

But then how would he have gotten through his darkest days?

They were there when no one else was, when he'd been kept from his family, when he'd been tormented.

"With some of my patients it helps to revisit the time of the person's death. Is that something you would like to do? You don't have to. You're the leader on this, I'm just here to help you work through it."

"I didn't get to say goodbye," he answered. "I was getting rescued, though I didn't know it then, and I was in a hallway. It was dark. There was an angel who wanted to hurt me, and…" Jack swallowed roughly, trying to get rid of the ache in his throat. He closed his eyes, seeing it all too perfectly in his head. "Nathaniel put himself in front of me, and the blade, it… It went into his chest. I tried to hold onto him, but Castiel pulled me away.

"And with Anael, I was back on Earth. There was fighting, a lot of it. Sam and Dean were there. And there was this other angel, Cael. I think Cas tried to hurt him, b-but Cael grabbed Anael, a-and the blade, it…"

Jack couldn't go on anymore, and he found himself angrily grabbing more tissues and wiping at his face. At this point he wasn't sure if he was ever going to stop crying. He held his face in his hands, hunched over, and just sobbed, the air in his chest hurting.

"Am I allowed to touch you?" Mia asked over his sobs, but voice still calm and respectful.

He nodded, and then she was joining him on the couch, rubbing his back, letting him know he wasn't alone.

"I tried to get her to wake up!" he explained. "She wouldn't wake up! I-I-I h-had her bl-blood on my h-hands."

"Seeing someone die can be its own trauma," Mia explained to him. "You're a brave young man with a lot to work through."

"I don't want to," he admitted, finally lifting his head up, and sniffling. He didn't bother wiping the tears away, letting them drip down his chin. Jack's cheeks flushed as he faced her, as he faced this truth. "I don't want to. I just-I just…" He tried to take in a deep breath, but he was breathing quickly now, and he couldn't control it.

"Hey, okay, okay. Just take some deep breaths with me."

Jack found himself listening to her, trying to breathe in time with how she did, but it only made him have more air with which to cry.

In a few minutes, he felt his breaths finally easing, the flow of his tears coming to an end.

"I want to be with them," he murmured.

"Would you like to talk to them?"

Jack shook his head, not wanting to look upon Nathaniel or Anael. It would be fake. It wouldn't be like the time Mia had become his mother. That had felt real. She'd said things that his mother would've wanted to say, truths that he needed to hear. But now, now he wasn't ready. Missing his mom was easy. There was so much to love about her, so much he remembered before he was even born, the way she would talk to him, the way her mind felt, the safety of being inside of her. But Nathaniel, and Anael, they weren't easy. They were gone, but the things they had done weren't gone. Jack could still feel it, still wanted it, wanted them, even when he thought maybe he didn't.

"And that's alright."

Mia continued talking, teaching Jack about the symptoms of grief, and telling him the process of working through it, starting with acceptance, and working through the pain, and learning to live without them. It sounded like a lonely, painful road.

"It's not something that can be done all at once," she told him. "It's like… an adventure, though not a very good one, I'll admit. You have to take the first step, and then the next and the next. You can't get to the end destination all at once."

Jack didn't mean to say it, but he was glum, even with this new information, so he asked, "Why bother?"

"Because you matter, Jack."

 _Heaven needs me._

That's what his head did, that's what it took that sentence and turned it into, but then he tried to think of what Dean had told him: " _No one has to serve a purpose to matter._ "

Could he be right?

Dean was smart, not smart in the same way Sam was, but still smart, so he could be right.

But if he was right why did it feel so wrong? Why did his mind simply keep chanting that Heaven needed him? Was that all he was good for?

"You deserve to be happy," she went on, drawing him from his tangle of complicated thoughts. "You deserve to keep living. And yes, loss is a part of life, a part of growing up, but there are other things that are part of life, as well. Family, love, and I think you have that. You have people who care about you. One of the goals in life is to not be alone, to live it with someone by your side, to experience things with other people, to make connections, and you have lost, there's no denying that, but you still have those connections, and there are still the people alive and well that are willing to be there for you. So that's why you should bother with working through this. You owe it to yourself, and to the people who love you, to be happy, and if not happy, okay.

"So here's step one: hurt. Hurt without shame, hurt without judgment, hurt without fear, hurt because you do. No one can tell you you're wrong for missing those people in your life. No one can tell you that what you're feeling is incorrect. Emotions are never wrong. So you take step one, and you keep going, you get through that hurt, you accept, but only when you're ready. No one can tell you when you're ready, but you'll know when you are. This is your time to get better, your time to heal. You're in charge now, Jack. You're the one with control."

And Jack had thought he'd cried out all his tears, but he felt them building up again, vision blurring, and one slid down his cheek.

 _You're the one with control._

"And do you know what that means?" she went on. "It means you can talk about what you miss about Nathaniel and Anael. It means you can talk about the baby. It means you can choose not to talk about them when you don't want to. It means you can do what you want to honor them, or you can choose not to. Allow yourself to miss them, allow yourself to be angry, and eventually, those emotions will start to lessen as your subconscious works them out. One thing that some people find helpful is making a spot for them. Not all people are left with bodies to bury, or burn, as I know you hunters do, but talk to your family, maybe have them put up gravestones for them, a place where you can visit when you feel you need to."

"I don't know…" he began, not sure his dads would want to do such a thing.

"No, you're in charge. I'll even talk to them for you, if you wish."

"You will?"

"Of course."

The session drew to a close, Jack telling Mia that there was a meadow near where he lived that he thought would be a nice spot. He wanted them to be remembered in a place where he could see the sky, where they belonged, even with their wings that had been damaged.

He left, feeling heavier and lighter all at once, but he resolutely met his dad and his father in the eye when he left Mia's office. For now, he was going to miss them Nathaniel, Anael, and the baby, and they were going to have to deal with it. Besides, it wasn't their pain. It was Jack's.

 _You're the one with control._

He smiled, hugging both his dads, and for just a moment, he had no blame to lay on Castiel.


	30. An Enemy Without a Face

**A/N: Oh look, what's this? Plot? Yes, I wrote plot. This story needed it after those last few chapters.**

* * *

"How'd the appointment go?"

It was an hour after they'd left, and Castiel had taken Jack out to get some snacks since he wasn't hungry enough for lunch. Sam had some time to himself, and he'd called Dean.

"I don't know. Good?" Sam answered, unsure. "We heard him crying, but I think he needed it."

"And what about you, how're you doing?"

"Fine."

"Cut the crap, Sammy. You haven't been fine since they first took the kid, and you're not fine now. Look, I know you're keeping things to yourself, but I ain't dumb. I know when my brother's upset."

He'd been sitting on his bed, but got up and started pacing at that, running a hand through his hair.

"We're all upset," he reasoned. "We gotta focus on Jack. Don't worry about me."

Even as Sam said that he remembered his conversation with Castiel that seemed a lifetime ago, in which he'd told him what he'd never told anyone. And then he'd told Jack. Really, Dean was the only one in their little family who didn't know.

" _You should give Dean a chance._ "

 _Maybe I should._

"Dude, I'm gonna worry, it's me you're talking to, so don't-"

Sam hadn't exactly been paying attention and interrupted, "Hey, um, how do you feel about all this? With-with Jack, I mean."

"I'm fucking glad we have him back, and I wanna carve me up some angel."

"No, no, I mean, about what they did to him, what he went through."

"I think it's messed up."

"But you don't, I don't know, blame him?"

"What?" Dean asked, clearly appalled. "Course not. Look, what is this about?"

"Nothing."

" _Sam._ "

"I'm just not okay with this, alright?"

"Me either," Dean solemnly agreed. "I can't even imagine what it's like."

Sam bit back a reply and clenched his jaw. He knew all too well. Ruby, Lucifer, Toni…

Memories, things he didn't like to think about, took over his mind so suddenly, he couldn't breathe, and his legs grew weak. Shaking, he got himself into a chair, gripping the back of it hard, needing to feel something solid and real.

Sam knew what it was like, even if his experiences had been different than Jack's. He knew what it was like to be touched and used, though, not used to the extent Jack was.

"Whoa, you okay?" Dean asked, apparently picking up on his struggles for breath.

"Yeah. Yeah, don't worry about me. Jack's the priority here, and maybe, maybe sometime soon he'll be feeling well enough to get mom."

"I miss her too, Sammy."

"It's… weird. I miss someone I barely know. But I guess my whole life's been like that," he thought aloud, chest aching, feeling like he wasn't allowed to share these thoughts. Dean just hummed thoughtfully, a sign that he agreed. Sam cleared his throat, trying to get past all he was feeling and asked, "So how's the bunker?"

"The only angel gettin' in is Cas. But Sam, I don't like this, just sitting around and waiting for an attack. We're stronger than that, and the angels, those sons of bitches need to pay."

"So what are you saying, Dean? That we go after them? We could barely hold up on our own when trying to save Jack. And say we do succeed, what'll that do, killing angels? You really want to bring about what the angels are fighting so hard to stop?"

"No more angels, no more thinking that they're gonna suddenly just up and snatch our kid again."

"But Heaven dying. All those souls? We can't do that to them."

"Then what are we supposed to do, sit around with our thumbs up our asses?"

"We take care of Jack."

"Look, I get it, the kid's messed up, he needs help, but this? I can't keep doing this, Sam. I need an enemy that I can see, and Jack's shit that he's dealing with, it ain't that. I want to help him, believe me, I do, but I feel like I'm just doing it all wrong."

"Yeah, me too."

"I mean, he's the most powerful being in the universe. We are _nothing_ compared to that. We're gonna be gone before he even knows it, and then he's gonna have more crap to deal with."

Sam sighed, not sure he was feeling up for this particular conversation. He didn't like to think about his own mortality when compared to Castiel and Jack. Their lives were a blink of an eye when compared to all Castiel had seen, and yet he stuck by them, and now they had Jack to look after. And Castiel, he didn't really have anything else anymore.

"He'll have Cas," Sam reassured his brother. "And Cas needs us too."

"Yeah, he's not doing good."

"His own family turned against him, so I can see why. Has he talked to you about it?"

"Yeah, a bit. But there were things that happened up there, things he saw and heard, and I think it hurt him."

"So really, none of us are fine, is what I'm hearing."

His brother inhaled deeply, which sounded slightly like crackle from Sam's end of the phone. "Yep."

"Then don't worry about me," Sam told him, realizing the conversation had circled back to where it'd nearly began. "This isn't the worst thing that I've been through."

Then Dean surprised him, saying something that led Sam to believe Dean might know more about his life than he thought: "That's what I'm worried about."

Did Dean know? No, he couldn't have. If he did he would've talked to him about it, right?

Sam considered telling him, but it felt like there was a weight placed over his tongue, and he couldn't speak, felt shame plunge down his throat and into his chest, a thick blackness that restrained him.

Cas knew, Jack knew.

Morbidly, Sam wondered if they'd pictured it, tried to imagine his suffering.

Sam despised that his mind had done the same thing with Jack's.

No, he couldn't tell Dean, couldn't let his brother have those pictures in his head.

But he was the only one who didn't know. Was that fair to him?

"Sam? Sam!"

"Hmm, what?" he asked, not realizing that Dean had been talking.

"You went all quiet. What's that beautiful mind of yours doing?"

As a response, Sam asked, "How much shit can you handle at once?"

"Dude, our whole lives are shit. I think I can handle a lot."

"I mean, about your family, about enemies that you can't see. How much can you handle?"

Dean sounded perplexed and surprised as he answered, "I don't know. Sometimes I worry, you know? I worry that those enemies that I can't see, that they're gonna take all of you away from me." Sam bowed his head, feeling an ache in his throat when he realized what Dean was talking about: suicide. It drew Sam back to an abandoned church, his body falling apart, about to close the Gates of Hell, and seeing no way he could mean something if he didn't sacrifice himself. Dean had been there to save him, and then ruin him. It was something Sam couldn't forget, but something he felt he wasn't supposed to talk about. Most of Sam's life wasn't really open for conversation. "So I guess I act like a jerk," Dean went on, "pretend it's not there. Hell, I do it to myself too. I'm just not good with this. You get a cut or break a bone? That I can take care of, it's something I can see, something I can feel, you know? But all the messed up stuff in our heads, sometimes I think it's too much, that I'm gonna lose you, or that you're gonna lose me."

Sam felt the prick of tears at the corners of his eyes, realizing his brother was sharing with him some of his darkest thoughts: Dean didn't always know how to go on either.

"We're not gonna lose each other," Sam assured him, voice quiet though he'd wanted to imbue it with strength. "And we're not gonna lose Cas or Jack, either."

"We could lose Jack again."

"Dean-"

"That's why we gotta go after them!"

"And then what? You want to deal with a dead Heaven, nowhere to go after we die?"

"Dude, I don't even _want_ to go to Heaven anymore. Those sons of bitches are all fucked in the head, and I don't want anything to do with that."

"Then what? Hell? You want Hell again, Dean?" His brother was silent, so Sam went on, "I've thought about it, too, okay? How screwed up this is. But Hell isn't much better. We both know that. I'm-I'm not going back there, _I can't_."

"Then we're all stuck."

"Guess we are."

Dean sighed, more static coming through on Sam's phone. "Just keep me updated on the kid, and call me if, you know, anything weird happens."

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry for making you tell him, about the baby."

"Yeah, well, I'm still here. Hooray."

"It should've been me."

"It shouldn't have been anyone," he argued. "Just drop it, okay? I'm alive, I'm drinking, I'm good."

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line, knowing Dean was very far from the definition of _good_ , but he decided to let it go. Besides, he could hear the key turning in the lock, a sign that Cas and Jack had returned.

"Don't do anything stupid," he said, his form of a goodbye.

Dean teased, "You're the one who got all the stupid."

Cas came in, Jack following behind, and Sam nodded a greeting as he then hung up his phone.

They got Jack to eat some chips, which was better than nothing, and Castiel did his best to heal Jack's malnourishment, although that would need multiple sessions to fix. Cas wasn't sure it would do much to fix his appetite though, since that was purely mental, and as much as he wished, he couldn't heal those things, or make those scars fade.

This stuff was permanent.

Maybe the only thing they could try to do was hold each other close.

* * *

Duma was alerted to Jack's presence the instant he stepped out of the bunker and left his safe haven. Unable to help herself, she was tracking him from up in Heaven, curious as to what he could be doing.

The other angels sensed it as well, which was why all that remained of Heaven's angels were packed into a conference room, trying to figure out what to do.

"We should go after him," Laila suggested.

"Castiel is with him," Duma reminded them. "If we harm him, Heaven weakens. And he and the Winchesters have already killed four of our brethren since Jack's initial capture. Perhaps it's time to look to our own."

"That's what we _are_ doing," Ariel argued. The lights dimmed, as if to prove her point, and she had her arms crossed, glaring at Duma.

Duma looked to Naomi, hoping at least one person was on her side. There were only ten of them now. Pathetic, weak. And Ariel and Laila wanted to risk more of them?

"We don't need the boy," Naomi said, grating at Duma's nerves. "We have what we need from him."

"Great, then let us do our work," Ariel argued. "I'm willing to bear his child, so is Laila. Tamiel?"

Tamiel was greatly focused on the table and had yet to say anything during the entire meeting. Her silence lasted longer than Ariel seemed pleased with, so she turned to the rest of the other angels, some who were still in male vessels.

"And the rest of you? Are you all really that frightened? Jack was just a means to an end. Bearing his children will _save_ Heaven."

"We acted like humans," Tamiel spoke up, "and not humans who would take their place here."

Everything went still, and Duma bit her bottom lip, feeling that heavy tingling pressure that told her she might've been wrong, that she had led Heaven astray.

"But there won't _be_ a place for the humans who deserve it if we fail at this," Laila argued. "We can't just sit up here doing nothing. Duma, you have to let us into his rooms, or at least, let us go after him."

"I forbid it," Duma responded, standing, placing her hands firmly on the table. "Anyone who goes after that boy will have no place here."

"Smart, so you'll banish us," Laila responded, tone low, and bitter.

"Only if you disobey," she hissed. "He is dangerous, his family is dangerous. Holding him took all our effort, and look where it got us. We are few in number, not like the days of old. We can't _do_ anything."

"We could still go through with the plan," Ariel reasoned.

"No. I will not let anyone in this room impregnate themselves. This fight has cost us too much."

Laila argued, now up out of her chair as well, "That's why we have to do it!"

"No," Tamiel murmured.

At that one word, chaos broke out in the room, and soon, all the angels were standing, yelling at each other, pointing fingers. Some thought they should wait, though they were asked to disclose why, others wanted to back out entirely, and were called cowards for it, and those who wanted to go ahead with the plan seemed to become the dominant stance in the room. The shouting went from English to Enochian, till there was only screeching and ringing in the room. Eyes were glowing, Grace singing through everyone, and blades were drawn.

"Enough!" Duma screamed, throwing out her voice with a burst of her Grace so that it buffeted everyone in the room, and sent them stumbling back, blades falling from their hands. "Being divided will get us nowhere. We don't go after the boy, we don't use what we've taken from him."

"Then what would you have us do?" Tamiel asked, not accusing, but looking for guidance, an answer to all this distress.

Duma knew that right then and there if she said she didn't know that she would lose her place as leader, and would be cast out. The tension in the room was too high, too many were turned against her, and even those like Tamiel would consider her leadership weak.

Naomi thankfully spoke up, "We could study the souls, as Anael had. They hold power. We could do something with that."

"What are you saying?" Duma asked.

Naomi answered resolutely, sending the room into a deathly silence, "That we consume the souls."

Shouting broke out in the room again, the few angels left having very different ideas about this, and Duma was appalled.

"Will we stop at nothing to save us?" she asked. "Look at us! Look what we've done, look what we're willing to do! We're not _worth_ saving." Her eyes widened, and she clamped her mouth shut, realizing she'd said too much.

"If that's how you feel," Laila began, "then you need not rule us."

"I will _not_ step down," she growled, already scanning the positioning of everyone in the room in case it came to a fight. "I will not let all of you destroy what's left of Heaven."

"You're the one destroying it," Ariel informed her.

There were nods, murmurs of agreement.

"Tamiel?" Duma asked, even as she readied herself to conjure her blade.

She didn't know why she called on her, didn't know why she thought perhaps she'd be her last hope, but she had been the most quiet during these discussions, and was clearly having some moral struggles just as she was.

"Maybe they're right," she said. "We have to survive," Tamiel told her.

Her brown eyes were sad when she gazed upon her, and she couldn't look for long. Upon seeing the way her shoulders slumped in defeat, Duma relaxed. She couldn't fight them, couldn't fight her brothers and sisters, couldn't possibly kill one of them. She would not weaken Heaven, would not weaken her people.

But what they'd fallen to...

Sam was right.

Oh God, he was right.

"We're better than this," she argued, voice thickened with pain, tears welling up in her eyes. "Please, do not let us go astray."

"You have led us astray," Ariel declared. "Your decisions have led to this ruin."

"Perhaps there's another way," one of the other angels murmured - Hayyel. He'd been quiet during most of this, though he had seemed more than ready to target one of Duma's previous supporters during all the arguing. His blade was laid out on the table before him. "We could find an archangel."

Duma sat down, and put her head in her hands, overwhelmed. Besides, she knew her voice would not be heard with this. The angels had already dismissed her, and would most likely imprison her or banish her.

"Raphael, and Gabriel are dead, and Michael is not fit for anything, and still in the Cage. If we could even get him out, he'd destroy us with his madness."

Hayyel spoke words that Duma hadn't expected, hadn't wanted to think about, especially given how Sam had compared her to him, but they were spoken nonetheless, and so began the beginning of the end: "Lucifer."

* * *

Lucifer had been back from Apocalypse World for a couple of weeks, laying low, trying to find an angel whose power he could drain, but he could barely sense them. If there were any on Earth, they were far from him. And Heaven… Heaven wasn't a place he wanted to go. So now, he was just trying to recharge and look for his son.

His son. Oh, how he wanted to see his son.

Someone that powerful could be used.

So Lucifer tried to make it by on the streets, killing those who hindered him, taking what he needed and what he wanted, and each day he'd try and make it a little closer to Kansas, where he was _sure_ the Winchesters were keeping his son. As the days dragged by, and with the cold nights, he imagined killing Michael, that perversion of his brother from Apocalypse World. He wanted to wring his neck, snap it, till bones popped out, and blood and Grace flowed, and he could suck it all in, eat him, and have the power for himself. He wanted to kill Castiel, wanted to rip off his wings, and stab him with the broken bones. Dean, for Dean he'd put out his eyes for ever looking at his son, and then would press his fingers through into his brain. He knew they had him. They had to have him. And Sam. _Oh, Sam._ Sam he'd save for last. He'd take his hands, one bone at a time, meticulously tearing away at skin, and joints. That was for touching his son, as he was sure he'd done. When it came to thinking about Sam so many ideas as to how he would make him suffer flooded his mind, everything a hot mix of blood and skin and agonized screams. Oh, to hold him again, to show his true vessel who he belonged to while ripping him to shreds, proof that he no longer needed his body.

His son was who he needed. His son. He didn't even know his name.

The Winchesters and Castiel, playing babysitter to a boy whose power belonged to _him_. They were out of their league, and he was going to show them once he found them, once he let some of his powers come back or found an angel to drain.

He could wait. He'd waited for Sam for over four and half billion years. For his son, his power, his revenge, he could wait a little bit longer. If the Cage had taught him anything, it was patience.

* * *

One mention of Lucifer and Duma knew they were done for. This was how they would end, going to someone who's actions she had made them imitate.

Heaven was going to fall.

Alone amongst the angels, she resigned herself to her fate.

Imprisonment wasn't what they wanted for her. None of them wanted to look at her, or wanted to remember what she'd led them to, didn't want her possibly still having an influence within Heaven.

So she was banished.

The other angels had their blades out when they banished her, expecting a fight, but Duma knew she had lost, knew that everything was lost, so she let it happen.

She wept outside the gates of Heaven, praying to a God who wasn't listening, knowing that she was wrong, wrong, wrong.

None of them should've ever touched that boy.

They were all going to fall.

* * *

Fortifying the bunker hadn't been an easy feat. It'd required lots of ladders and spray paint, and now the outside of their home looked like it'd been vandalized by a religious nut with a serious hard-on for the color red. At least the inside still looked like his home. But it didn't feel like it, it was too empty.

Maybe he could call Cas.

No, he'd called Sam a couple hours ago. He didn't want to bother them.

But what if something was wrong?

Nope. No, this wasn't working

Not at all.

Dean sent a quick text to Sam and Cas to check in, though he had a feeling he was annoying them. There wasn't an immediate response, so he got his laptop, deciding to see what he could find for work. They hadn't had a case since before rescuing Jack, and he was itching to kill something, especially with all the stress with the kid.

Jack, Dean didn't know how to fix, but say, a ghost problem, he was your man.

An hour into digging, and down three cups of black coffee, he found something, and it was… odd. The killings were clearly not done by a human, if the bodies were anything to go off of. A hole had been plunged through each victim's chest right through and out their back, completely shattering ribs and spine. Forensics still couldn't find out what kind of weapon had done it, though on one of the bodies there were some biological tissue of another person they'd found in the wound. Well, Dean only got that far when in a few hours he went to meet up with the sheriff, easily claiming he was FBI. He wasn't allowed to look at the body though since evidence had already been collected and it'd been given back to the family for cremation. At least they were going with that route, so there'd be one less problem to take care of around there.

The town was like many he'd been to before, little cute shops lining the streets, people who were nice to you until they decided you were different than them, and plenty of wooded areas for a possible monster to be living in. The ground was flat though, not making much room for caves or dens, so he figured this wasn't a wendigo. Besides, what kind of wendigo would shove something right through its snack?

It wasn't just the violence that had drawn him, but it was the path the killer had taken. Only one body had shown up in this town, and he figured tomorrow there'd be another in a different town. The killer was heading west, making their way towards Kansas, and he didn't like it.

With not much else to do, he got a motel for the night, and called Cas, letting him know what he was up to.

"Dean, you were supposed to stay at the bunker!"

"Jeez, honey, no need to get your panties in a bunch," he joked. Dean could somehow feel Castiel's glare through the phone, especially since he'd used a term of endearment jokingly. Yeah, maybe that hadn't been the best idea. "Look, I'm fine. Based on this guy's patterns the killer probably isn't even in town anymore. I'm safe."

"And the bunker?"

"I'm hardly sure how you're going to get in."

"Sam and I are going to be back in two days. You couldn't have waited?"

Dean shrugged, though his friend wouldn't be able to see it. Friend, boyfriend? He shook his head at himself, unsure.

"I got bored. How's Jack?"

"Don't think you can pull a _how's Jack?_ and I'll let this go," Castiel intoned heatedly. There was a pause, but then he answered, "Jack is… okay. He asked Sam and I if we could erect headstones for Anael and Nathaniel."

Dean didn't want to talk about this, so instead he laughed, and murmured, "You said _erect_."

" _Dean._ "

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. Um… headstones? Really? Is that a good idea?"

"Mia talked to us about it. I think we have to do it."

"So let me get this straight," Dean began, "we have to honor our kid's rapists?"

"Do you have a better idea?" Cas growled, clearly at his wit's end with all this as well.

"No, no, not really," Dean admitted, tone somber. "Fine, we'll do it if it makes the kid happy. Just keep me updated."

"You keep me updated, you-"

"Ah!" Dean cried. "Were you about to get mean?"

"I'm just frustrated," Castiel admitted.

Still having had enough of seriousness for once, Dean asked with a suggestive hint to his voice, "Sexually?"

"Go to bed."

"Yes, sir."

Some sort of noise reached him through the phone, and he couldn't tell if it was one of upset or pleasure. Either way, Dean kind of liked it, so he smiled to himself after he hung up.

 _Oh, Cas._

But Dean wasn't going to go to bed, not yet. For that he needed alcohol, so he headed back out to a bar, deciding to keep his suit on in case it got some people talking, giving more information about the case. In his experience, lots of people were curious to talk to an off-duty fed.

But the night wore on, with no new leads, no new dirt to dig up, and too much alcohol. At least it kept him from having nightmares about Jack screaming, but still, the faceless enemies haunted him.

* * *

 **A/N: Don't worry about Lucifer. This is just a little cameo. I needed to show that the angels weren't sitting up there doing nothing and that their decisions have consequences. Heaven is still the main problem here.**


	31. The Room

**A/N:** **I'm so sorry it's been weeks! I really needed to get the spark back for this story, and I just couldn't, but I've been going through a lot recently. Applying for disability is just a trap to get you to do adulting - that's what I found out. And I have to go to the hospital next week and might be there for two weeks, so this is probably going to slow down again. But Jack's gonna get that push to get us to the end of the story!**

 **As for the news about the show ending, well, I got my feelings out the best way I could, and wrote, so if you're interested in it, check out "Don't You Cry No More".**

 **Oh, and I got a story published in an online fanzine! It's "Splintered", so feel free to check it out!**

 **Also, this chapter is absolutely horrifying, and I had my notes for it written in code so I didn't have to look at it and get creeped out, so be warned. This is what I've been hiding since chapter 11 (you're going to hate it, I hate it). And look, I know this whole story is creepy and has non-con themes, but I gotta add this warning:**

 **WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS HIGHLY DISTURBING NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL CONTENT OF AN UNDERAGE CHARACTER.**

* * *

"No! No, please, _don't!_ "

Lucifer inhaled a pleased breath through his nose, lips parted, at hearing those words leave his victim's mouth, but still, he punched his fist right through the man anyway, enjoying the heat of his body - a perfect ninety-eight point six degrees Fahrenheit. And oh, it was all wet and there was the crunch of bone - ribs, and then spine, organs and blood coating him nearly up to his elbow, spraying, and then pouring. There wasn't even a scream, and then he pulled out, letting his body drop to the cement.

He knew he probably shouldn't be doing this, leaving a trail for people to follow, but this man had mocked him, and besides, he'd tried to pull a knife on him. And there could be money in his pockets.

There was! After some digging he'd found a few dollar bills.

Lucifer scrounged them out with his clean hand, kissed them, a murmur of _yes_ leaving him, and then he was on his way, knowing he had to get to the next town. But first he cleaned off his hand as best he could on the man's clothes, dragged his body over to a dumpster and dumped it in, and then he started to make his way out of town. His stomach gnawed at him, empty, human, a feeling he wasn't used to, but he could wait to eat.

Time to go, still on his way to Kansas.

He wondered if his son had gotten around to killing anyone yet; he hoped he'd leave Sam for him.

* * *

Jack vaguely remembered that Sam had said goodnight to him, but now he was trapped. The chains were on him, but they were different chains. These didn't burn, didn't yell at him for being him. But he was still trapped. The angels had him.

Everything was dark, a pitch black that was all too familiar of an enemy, intimate with him. He knew what the dark meant, the cloth over his eyes, what this feeling of being exposed meant, his clothes taken from him.

The Room.

"No, no, please, _don't!_ "

No one acted as if they heard the words, as if they hadn't been spoken, as if the only part of him that existed was his body - no mind, no emotion, no being, no _him_.

Firm hands were on his bare shoulder, an angel he was sure he didn't know the name of. Other hands grabbed his chains, and he followed, beaten.

His heart seemed to implode, chest caving in, when they entered the Room. He could tell they were there because the angels smelled uncomfortable, nervous, but cold, and closed off, except for one, a distant smell.

His mind went blank from there, everything in him empty and aching.

But there was something in that emptiness.

Jack was back outside the Room again, chains being yanked on.

"Come on." Nathaniel this time.

"No, no, please, _don't!_ "

Aching, fire, empty.

"Jack, it's time." Duma.

"No, no, please, _don't!_ "

Aching, fire, empty.

"Jack, you know I'll hit you if I need to." Cael.

More aching, more fire.

Emptiness.

"No, no, please, _don't!_

"It's fine, Jack. It's just a game." Ariel.

"No, no, please, _don't!_ "

Aching.

Pounding.

Pulling.

Searing.

Empty.

"It's just a game."

"It's just a game."

"I don't like this game!"

" _I don't like this game!_ "

Those last words did leave Jack's mouth, and Sam's hand was on his shoulder, Castiel running to him, kneeling by his dad; a lamp had already been switched on. Jack was coated in sweat, but the blankets were neat, suggesting that he'd lay frozen while tormented by his mind.

"I-I do-don't like this g-game," he got out. "Please, I don't like it, _I don't like it_."

Sam smoothed his hair back. "Shh, shh, shh… Hey, hey, hey, no game, no game, okay? Just us. It's just us."

"Jack, may I try something?" Castiel asked.

Jack switched his terrified gaze to his father, tense muscles aching, even as he felt his body trying to heal it.

"What?" he murmured, swallowing back another outburst.

"Could I go into your head? I won't look, I'll just ease what you're feeling."

The angels wanted to get into his head.

They were going to steal him.

They were going to steal his family.

The bad guys wanted to get into his head.

Jack shook his head, and pulled away from them, till he was almost falling off the other side of the bed, and Castiel moved away, hands up in a placating gesture.

"Alright. It's alright," he soothed. "I won't hurt you. Your head is your own."

Jack heard his words, but he wasn't sure. There were things in his head, memories that were bruised, trying to heal from the drill.

His dads spoke with him till he calmed down, till he was asleep again, but he could smell something from Castiel: it reminded Jack of when he had an itch he couldn't scratch. But it was a small problem, so he found sleep again, knowing they were there to look after him.

* * *

Castiel tilted his head towards the door once Jack was asleep, and Sam gave his son a quick look to see if he was truly alright for now before slipping his jacket on and following him outside.

"What's up?" Sam asked, tensing when his bare feet touched the cold wood of the stairs they stood on.

His friend looked around, eyes wary, seeing if anyone might overhear them, though it was at least an hour before the sky would turn its drab gray before dawn.

"I know what his nightmare was about, and I think maybe I can help."

"Cas, he doesn't want you going in his head. I mean, can you blame him? The angels, they did a lot to him."

"I know, I know, but what he said, it…" He grimaced, lowering his head, and Sam thought he saw a tear in his eye. "It's not right what they did, and I want to do at least one thing to fix it."

"Cas, we're trying."

"It's doing nothing. Our… Our little boy, he's-he's broken."

Sam clenched his jaw, swallowing roughly, feeling an all too familiar ache in his throat. If that was how Cas saw Jack, how did he see him?

"Cas-"

"I'm sorry, that's not what-"

"No, maybe you're right." Sam had been looking at the ground, the dim light above the door flickering, electricity buzzing and snapping, but now he dared himself to look at Castiel, to look at the angel who knew his secret, who had seen things he couldn't fathom. "Maybe me, him, you, all of us. Maybe we are just… broken. Maybe that's the way it is, and we gotta live life like that."

"Sam, no, that's-"

"It hurts, Cas," Sam admitted. "That thing I told you, that stuff that Jack went through and I had to explain to him? It hurts. It's not really something that's in the past, that you can move on from. I mean, how can you when it pops into your head every single fucking day and you can't control it? And he's gonna live with that. I…" He shook his head, biting his bottom lip to hold a sob in, feeling the tears build up, that pinch at the bridge of his nose, the sting in the corners of his eyes, Castiel blurring in his vision like maybe he wasn't truly there, like maybe Sam was all alone in this. "I didn't want this for him. I mean, I didn't think I'd ever be a dad, or that you would, or Dean would, but, hey," he shrugged, going on, "here we are. We have a kid, and I love him to death. I love him, Cas. But when I look at him I see what they did to him, and I think, _What kind of parent am I? What kind of man lets their kid go through something like that?_ _Why couldn't it have been me?_ "

"Sam, you don't deserve that, and you never did."

"People are dead because of me, Cas. A lot of people, good people. I know we saw that other world, that place without us, without Dean and me, what this place would be without us, but what good am I here if I can't even keep my kid safe when he's sleeping? That stuff in his head, what if it's too much? What if it's gonna kill him?"

"Sam, we will find a way to help him. I can talk to him, _you can talk to him_ , we can fix those memories. This is his mind trying to figure out what happened to him."

"What if he does find out? What if he finds out and it makes him worse? What if it turns out he wants to go back to not knowing?"

"Then I'll take them from him… with his permission."

"Cas."

"I can take them from you too."

Sam didn't know why, but he stepped back. Slowly, eyes wide and pleading, Cas offered out his hand, showing he wouldn't hurt him, and Sam gripped his forearm, feeling stronger from his friend's touch.

"It's okay, Sam, and it's okay that it's not okay."

He nodded, one of the tears finally falling to slide down his cheek, and now he couldn't face him.

They released each other, and Sam murmured, "They're my memories, you know? I don't know who I'd be without them."

"And with them, you're the kindest, most loving man I know."

Sam smiled at him. "Really?"

Castiel was also smiling, a glint of humor in his eyes. "Don't tell Dean."

They laughed quietly together, and it was nice to hear from Castiel since it was a sound he heard so rarely, so warm, and old and young all at once.

Then Cas went on, "I'm sorry I can't do more for you, but Jack, maybe there's something I could do."

"We'll let him decide. He's gotta learn that his choices are important."

"He'll learn. Our son is smart."

"He's one hell of a kid."

"Yeah, he is."

* * *

They left the motel the next day after taking Jack out to breakfast, getting him to eat a little, and they gently pressed him about his nightmare. Jack couldn't really remember it, and he brushed aside Castiel's offer to help him remember.

No one would go in his head ever again, and he told them so.

Castiel seemed frustrated, which made Jack glare at him, and his father bowed his head in resignation. Sam let him know he understood, and that was the end of that. And then he was stuck in the car again, listening to Dean's music on a mixtape he'd made for his father, and Jack wondered what torments the day would bring him.

* * *

Dean started his day chasing the case. Someone had gone missing, and usually it took seventy-two hours to find a missing person, but it had occurred in the same town, and the police were on high alert, so they'd been found, body left in a dumpster. And lucky for him, the idiot who'd killed him hadn't ditched his shoes, and this time there were fingerprints.

Wasn't much else to do for the two hours he had to wait for the information from the prints to come in, but he got a call when it was ready.

"Agent Banner, you're not gonna believe this," the sheriff opened up with, her voice astounded.

Even after a few hours he had an easy-going kind of relationship with her, so he responded, "Shoot."

"So we checked the prints, only came up with partials, but we got a match from a missing persons case back in 2009. Weird, leads back to a cold case of a family getting murdered in Pike Creek, Delaware, also 2009."

"What's the man's name?"

"I didn't say it was a man."

Dean cleared his throat, realizing his mistake, but his head was putting two and two together. These were facts he knew of, but he hadn't thought of them in a long, _long_ time, had almost completely forgotten them.

"Shoe prints," he lied.

"Right. Nick Felting."

 _Huh, Felting. So that was the son of a bitch's last name._

By this point Dean had finished the puzzle, so there wasn't any initial shock. It didn't hit him till he hung up. He'd woven some lie that he'd figure it out, find out where the suspect was heading, and then he was left sitting on his bed in his motel room wondering what the hell he was supposed to do.

Lucifer was fucking back.

Dean looked at his contacts, heart sinking.

 _Gotta tell Sam._

His thumb hovered over his brother's name.

No, he couldn't do it. Sam was taking care of Jack, and Sam wasn't doing good. He was just going to have to track down the bastard himself and figure something out.

Then he'd tell Sam.

This wasn't worth hurting him over.

God, he was burning inside thinking of Lucifer, thinking of what he could've possibly done to his brother. Dean didn't even know, didn't even really want to know. But he knew what direction Lucifer was heading in, knew what kind of shoes he was wearing, knew he was moving slow. Dean had the angel cuffs. He could find him, and when he did…

When he did he was going to ask him what the hell had happened to their mom, and he wasn't about to ask nicely. That's what his angel blade was for.

And the Devil was heading to Kansas, looking for them, surely.

Dean was going to find him first.

* * *

It was midday and they'd stopped at a Gas-N-Sip to refuel, and get snacks and drinks for the road. Jack had admitted to just wanting to go home, and not stopping. The longer he was away from the bunker, the more uneasy he felt, the hair on the back of his neck prickling, shoulders tingling, like he was being watched, or like he was going to be taken away again. He stared hard at everyone he saw, trying to see if they were an angel, though he knew he'd be able to feel it, and his father would too.

The Gas-N-Sip was a safe place, just humans inside if you didn't count their odd, little family, and Jack was at the aisle with the candy bars. There were some up front, but the ones in this aisle were the king-sized ones, and at the moment he couldn't choose between a Snickers, a 3 Musketeers, or a Milky Way.

"You can get all three if you want," Castiel suggested, coming over and immediately knowing Jack's dilemma from a single glance.

Jack thought maybe he was supposed to feel a spark of excitement from that - he liked nougat, and all those candy bars were equally good - but instead there was nothing. Jack was grabbing all three when Sam came over, carrying one of the red plastic baskets he'd gotten from the front of the store, and it had Gatorade and some nutrition bars in it.

"Okay, I think we got enough."

Something froze Jack in that moment, his heart going up into his throat, and pounding, pounding, _pounding_ , trying to let loose through his mouth, maybe as a scream, but he clenched his jaw. That didn't stop his heart from beating at him, feeling like he was slowly bleeding inside, everything in him turning to liquid, and the candy bars fell from his hands. Jack didn't even hear them hit the floor.

" _I think we got enough._ "

Those words. Jack knew those words.

" _I think we got enough._ "

Castiel reached out for him, and Jack faltered back, hands shaking, lungs aching, black spots in his vision.

" _I think we got enough._ "

There were sounds in his head, weird sounds, machinery, and he looked up at his dads, saw their mouths moving, but couldn't hear them. Blood was rushing in his ears, and somewhere inside him he began to hurt, hurt like he didn't know he could hurt.

Jack collapsed, the world going dark, fire in his blood. It was like playtime, but different, so different. There wasn't skin, wasn't someone else, and it hurt, oh, _it hurt_. He reached one peak, everything in him screeching, and still there were those machines, that-that… Jack didn't know, didn't know what any of this was.

" _I think we got enough._ "

Darkness, the blindfold, chains, but not the chains that burned. Pleasure, too much, far too much, pain, and… and something else.

Lying down.

They'd made him lie down.

Restrained.

Something in him, pounding, beating, like it was trying to force everything it could out of him, even his essence.

Something on him, squeezing, tugging, taking what it could from him, reaching past the point of overwhelming, to the point where he called upon his Grace.

The machines took it.

The angels took it.

They took his Grace.

Sick to his stomach, unable to see, unable to breathe, lost, Jack felt like his chest exploded, his heart, his lungs, and tears were streaming down his face. Everything in him was let out at that moment, and he didn't know where he was, what he was doing, what was happening. There were those awful machines.

The Room.

The Room, the Room, the Room.

" _Jack, tomorrow's going to be different."_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _I can't tell you, but… the other angels think it's best we try something new."_

New was no touch, no one against him, alone though he could sense them in the room, dark, empty and full all at once.

" _Something new? Will I get to play with you?"_

" _No, Jack. I'm… I'm sorry. It… It was my idea. I shouldn't have said anything. But we need you. Do you understand that?"_

 _They need me._

 _Heaven needs me._

The angels were taking his Grace.

" _Jack, I want you to know that what I'm doing isn't out of cruelty."_

They tore him open, they pulled everything out of him till he was nothing, empty.

" _What do you mean? You've done nothing wrong."_

The Room. Nathaniel's idea.

" _Just get through tomorrow, Jack. I… I asked to not be present during… during it. But I will be with you after, and I can take care of you."_

Jack could remember now, different angels escorting him, and Cael - Cael laughing, smiling, slapping him when he cried, when he called out. Cael whispering darkness, that he deserved it, that he was nothing, not an angel, not a human: an it.

It.

That's why they had the machines.

Jack was an it.

No _he_ , no _they_ , no anyone.

 _It._

A body.

Save Heaven.

A body to save Heaven.

His Grace.

" _I think we got enough._ "

The machines went at him, relentless, uncaring, emotionless, devoid of mercy, of anything, of substance, of humanity, of being, of _life_.

" _I think we got enough._ "

And they stole life from him.

He was in the bathtub now, afterwards, able to see, the sounds of the droplets falling from him incredibly loud in the silence around them. Nathaniel washed him.

" _Breathe."_

Jack couldn't breathe.

" _Breathe."_

Jack just screamed, released all of himself.

" _It's okay. You're alright."_

Rumbling, screaming, screeching of metal and wires, the wild snap of electricity, banging, and noises louder than he'd ever heard before met his ears, and Jack opened his eyes. The Gas-N-Sip was collapsing around him, shelves knocked backwards in all directions spreading out from in him a circle like a bomb had gone off, various foodstuffs and drinks popped open out of their packaging and spilled out, mixed with the dust falling from the ceiling that had half-caved in. The counter had been taken out, and there was blood, a lot of blood, and the place was still falling apart, support beams tumbling, wires swinging, lights sparking out and crashing. Windows were shattered, and Jack had been so lost in the memories he hadn't even heard the glass break.

Before he could find his dads amidst the chaos and the fallen things, he was hit by it again, like an aching wound with blood spurting out in great bursts as he died.

" _I think we got enough_."

" _Dad!_ " Jack screamed, yelling for both his parents, yelling for help, for anyone.

The machines went at him, worked his body till the angels got what they needed.

What they needed they stole.

The Room.

" _DAD!_ "

With each yell, each burst of agony in him more destruction met him, and through blinding tears he thought maybe he saw Sam, under a part of the ceiling, unmoving, eyes closed, head bleeding bright crimson, and it flowed from his ears and nose. Cas was crawling towards him as the ceiling caved in. None of the rubble hit Jack.

It went dark again, and he heard Cael's voice in his ear, Jack whimpering as the machines did their work: "You know why we do this, Jack? Because you're disgusting. Because none of us want to touch you. You think any of us really like you, or care about you? No. No, that's not it. All the touching, the things we do to your body, just a means to an end. This, this gets us what we need and we barely have to lay a finger on you, and I get to watch. You're not one of us, not one of them. You're a thing."

There was a hatred there that Jack smelled, even while he was busy just trying to make it through this. And he could smell the other angels, hear them in their high-pitched voices, angry at Cael for speaking to him.

The sensations suddenly left, but still, the blindfold was there.

To keep themselves safe?

So Jack couldn't see them?

So Jack couldn't see the faces of those who did this to him?

A familiar hand was on him, gentle, and his body responded quickly, knowing by now what it was going to get - playtime, but not the fun playtime, no, not that. The wretched game that didn't stop, that took from him, that went inside him to make sure he broke and gave up what they needed.

Jack's breathing grew harsh, unable to suck in deep breaths, as pleasure swirled up into his stomach. Another hand was resting at his waist, above the chains they'd placed there.

"I'm sorry, Jack. It'll be alright."

Then came the machines, one on him, in between his legs, the other…

Jack hadn't known things could go there.

Or maybe he had, maybe that's why he'd played with Nathaniel, why he'd liked to be inside him.

It didn't hurt right away with Nathaniel.

He made it feel good. Discomfort turned to more, to searing and arcing white.

But with his completion the pain rained down, stoning him, carving him up like a piece of meat that the angels were taking more than their share of.

They were beating and squeezing him dry - his body, his being, overloading his senses until all of him didn't know what to do and his Grace was forced to be released.

And it was released, his powers.

Again, and again, the building falling in all around him, and them blowing outwards, cars flying up and into the street, crashing with other cars - loud roaring and thunderous booms and screeches of metal.

Jack could see it. He could, but it was as if he wasn't there, like none of this was happening. He was in the Room with those machines.

The fires started, gas dripping from hastily abandoned pumps, or by bodies - dead or incapacitated, Jack couldn't tell.

Unsteady, pounding in his body, sobbing, feeling like he was going to be sick, he crawled through the dust, the debris, not caring about the food that was getting on his clothes, through the rubble, finding Sam through the plaster and concrete. Cas was there, hanging onto him, face soaked with tears. Jack held his dads when the first explosion went off.

* * *

 **A/N:** **If I find one of you climbing in my bedroom window with a knife for this, I would not be surprised.**

 **As for Nick's last name, Mark Pellegrino has a relative with the last name Felting, so I thought it'd fit. I'm actually shocked that in 14 seasons they haven't told us this dude's last name. I just really needed it for this one-time thing with Dean.**

 **Hope I'll be able to update soon, but if not, know that I still appreciate my awesome readers (even if I gave you a cliffhanger).**


	32. Way Down We Go

11:47 and Dean had caught up to the son of a bitch. Wasn't too hard really. He was heading in a steady direction, and Dean just had to find the scummiest place in town.

 _This is stupid,_ he told himself, as he parked the Impala a safe distance from where he'd found Lucifer sitting by an abandoned warehouse, eating a sandwich with exuberance. Odd to see him eating - angels didn't need food, especially not archangels. But this whole thing was odd. Why hadn't the Devil just poofed himself over to the bunker and found a way to get in and destroy them? Why was he killing humans? Why was he _walking_? Couldn't he fly?

Was it possible the Devil was human?

Dean wasn't dumb enough to take that chance, so he went with everything he had: angel blade in one hand, cuffs hanging from his pocket, and his gun tucked into the back of his pants.

He'd silenced his phone too, knowing he was on his own for this, and any indication of his presence before he was ready to show himself would surely make his chances of death go from ninety-nine percent to one-hundred percent, and right now, Dean really liked that one percent difference.

Heart in his throat, sweating, Dean made his way back to the part of town where he'd last seen him, hoping to catch him unawares.

 _This is stupid._

 _He's gonna kill you._

 _You're gonna die._

 _You're gonna die in an alley, and Sammy's never gonna find your body._

But what else could he do?

Sam and Cas were surely on their way back from Wisconsin now with the kid, and even with backup none of them really stood a chance.

The Devil was coming for them anyway, so he had to try, and thank god for the warding carved into his ribs.

By the time he got back to the warehouse, crouching low behind a dumpster at the corner of the alley, nostrils getting assaulted with the putrid smell, Lucifer wasn't alone. Judging by the crisp, clean clothes and drab colors of the people with him they were angels, three of them. Lucifer stood before them, hands on his hips, chest puffed out like the arrogant bastard he was.

He strained, trying to hear what they were saying, and he wanted to get closer, but if he did his chances of survival would drop down from one percent to negative two.

Lucifer laughed, making Dean's skin crawl, and he swallowed roughly, knowing that was the face Sam had seen in Hell. He hadn't really talked to him about it, but he had, just a little bit, enough for Dean to know that Sam probably saw that face at night.

"... _Lucifer touches me_ …"

He tried to shake the thought away. Sam had been talking about a vision, that was it, and that was two years ago.

Lucifer hadn't… _touched_ his brother.

But standing there, proudly, Dean still wanted to smash his face in with only his fists, just so he could feel the crack of bone, and the messy pulp his brains would be once he was done with him.

"You need me," Lucifer declared, voice thankfully loud.

The middle angel, a tall, almost-gangly man with ash-brown hair swept across his forehead, spoke up, "Heaven's dying, and we're leaderless. If we had an archangel-"

Lucifer turned, almost right towards Dean, and he mentally swore, shuffling back as quietly as possible, but he didn't miss the smile on his face.

"Hold on, hold on, hold on. Let me just… _cherish_ this moment. _Heaven_ wants me back."

"Yes."

"So what gives? Had enough poor management? Realized Dad's spending all his time sunbathing in Hawaii sipping on a martini?"

"Duma was trying to lead us, but we banished her, and the souls under our care-" the angel in the male vessel tried to explain, but was cut off.

"Ah, the souls." Lucifer was pacing now, tapping against his lips thoughtfully, and then he began to sing, a song that Dean had never heard, and he had to admit, though Satan had a good voice, the tune sucked ass, " _Falling out to go far from the soul-_ "

"Lucifer," the tall angel interrupted.

Lucifer twisted, raising his hand, fingers ready to snap, and Dean tensed, but nothing happened.

"I'm not finished.

" _Well these demon days are so cold inside_

 _It's so hard to live, and so to survive_

 _You can't even trust the air you breathe_

' _Cause Mother Earth has a soul to leave_!"

He let the last note hang in the air, and then held his arms out as if expecting applause, or maybe even more, some sign of fealty.

"So what's the gig? I take over for Pops? Become the ol' Daddy-o around here? _Save the souls_?"

He pouted with the last question, clearly finding the idea ridiculous, though he wasn't scoffing at the chance for power.

"You'll rule Heaven," one of the other angels said, a short woman with pale blonde hair and a motherly face.

"That's it? I rule Heaven. So all of you will listen to me, do anything I want you to do?"

The angels shifted, glancing at each other nervously, and Dean really thought he should put a stop to this - Lucifer ruling Heaven was the last thing they needed, but if he intervened they'd smite him on the spot.

Or if Lucifer really did accept the throne, they might keep Dean around so the Devil could have something to do while bored.

"If you can make more angels, we'll accept your reign," one of them said, this one in a dark-haired female vessel. She stepped forward, a little more confident than the others, though the one in the male vessel seemed to be trying to lead these negotiations.

"More angels, huh?" Lucifer shrugged. "I can do it. On one condition."

The others looked timid, ready to run, but stood, waiting for him to go on.

The Devil tilted his head, wincing. "I need your Grace."

Quick as lightning, he lunged forward, grabbing the tall angel, the two others letting out shouts of, "Hayyel!", which must've been his name. He grabbed an angel blade off of him, slit Hayyel's throat, and instead of just bleeding red, radiant light poured forth. The angel tried to scream, voice choked, and the others stood there, not sure what to do, too terrified to take their chances against the fallen archangel. Lucifer brought his mouth to the slash, and seemed to inhale, the Grace flowing into him, and it was almost… sensual, erotic in the way in which he did it. It made Dean feel like he was going to be sick, and he swallowed roughly, shifting in his hiding spot, legs aching from being crouched for so long.

Lucifer's mouth got closer to his neck, lips hungry, if only in a way that Dean couldn't understand, this act going beyond just physical bodies. In a matter of moments it was done, and he stood back, letting the empty, dead vessel fall to the ground, blood already seeping from his throat onto the cracked tarmac.

 _Oh god._

"Alright, who's next on the menu?"

The two angels didn't even pause to think about their next move, and started running.

Lucifer shouted at them, and snapped his fingers, obviously trying to use his Grace for something, but nothing happened.

" _Fuck_ ," he swore, and then he was going after them.

Weakened.

The Devil was weakened.

This was Dean's only shot.

No longer caring about staying covert for this, he came out from behind the dumpster, blade of his knife ready in his hand so he could throw it. It was difficult to hit a moving target, but it was what Dean had been trained for. Without thinking about consequences, about what might happen to him, just letting a familiar calm take over his mind, Dean aimed, let out a breath, and threw the blade.

The silver arced, end over end over end, but his aim fell short, and it only got Lucifer in the calf. He fell, the other angels getting away, and now he turned back, eyes blazing red, as he held his bleeding leg.

" _You!_ "

He waved, knowing it'd infuriate him, and then he didn't stick around to see if Lucifer had enough power to kill him.

But he heard his voice tailing him, " _Come back here, Dean! You give me my son! I want my son!_ "

Dean was sweating and had to take his coat and jacket off by the time he got to the Impala, and he was out of breath, chest heaving.

Fuck, he was going to have to get a new angel blade.

Why had he saved those angels? They'd probably raped his kid, and he'd saved them.

And Lucifer wanted Jack.

Fuck. It was the only word Dean knew of for the situation.

He started driving, phone out, already calling Sam. Sam had to know. And the angels had offered him Heaven. Things weren't looking so hot.

Sam didn't pick up.

Hating himself, but feeling this was too urgent to wait for Sam to call him back, Dean left a message.

* * *

Castiel spread his wings to shield them from the blast, what little it would do without his feathers, and Jack, their boy who had started all this, did the same, protecting Sam. They weathered through, fire raining down, series of explosions going off, rattling them to the bones, and Sam didn't wake up. Cas had a hand on his head, could feel what was wrong with him, but didn't have the strength yet to heal him while shielding them. He had a traumatic brain injury, probably from the rubble, his skull cracked, and it seemed as if all of his ribs were broken from one of Jack's blasts, threatening to puncture his lungs and have them collapse. One of his legs was shattered, trapped under part of the ceiling, and it was a mercy that he wasn't awake.

The fire was one of the loudest things Castiel had ever heard, and the heat felt like its own physical force, a wall closing in around them, trying to destroy them.

He wouldn't be destroyed, and maybe Jack wouldn't, but Sam…

There was no time to process how this had happened. Jack had shut down, and then he'd lost it, killing the other people inside, powers releasing until nothing remained standing, and making them _feel_.

He'd made them feel what he felt, and it was nothing that could be made sense of, a deep hurt and confusion and fear, and it'd incapacitated him, knocking him to the ground, and he'd seen Sam feeling it before he'd lost consciousness, tears streaming down his face.

The fire started getting pushed back from them, even as it whipped about with a fury, raging at this new force.

Castiel raised his head, saw Jack's eyes searing gold, hands held out, everything in him struggling to push the tongues of flame back, the heat, the smoke. His wings still shielded them, and Castiel saw them as a brilliant gold, saw all of his inhumanity blazing through him, still strong even after everything that'd been done to him.

Jack wasn't a human in that moment, and he wasn't an angel either.

He was the most powerful being in the universe, and this destruction, followed by this control over what he'd done, was only a taste of his true power. His son got to his feet as the flames died around them, rubble getting pushed back, smoke clearing in the sky. And then he was screaming, powers coming to a height within him, and in one brilliant golden wave the fires were extinguished with a cold wind, blowing Castiel's hair back, and he had to squint his eyes from all the dust and ash.

Jack fell to his knees and started crying, lost in his own head, but his wings had faded, and his powers had died down. Castiel was somewhat confident this was all the hurt he would cause for now.

There still wasn't time to take it all in: that people were dead, that Sam was hurt, that even Castiel had felt the effects of it, and that minutes ago this place had been standing tall.

For now he did what he knew he had to do, and hurriedly dug Sam out. And then he was healing him, unable to breathe until his friend opened his eyes and took in a full breath.

He sat up, Cas helping him, and he stared at it all, eyes wide.

Sirens were beginning to shriek in the distance.

"What happened? Jack?"

He tried to reach out for him, and Jack fell back, shaking his head.

"No, no, no."

Sam looked at Cas, then back at the destruction, the blood, the people who were gawking at it, unsure of what to do, and probably wondering how there were even survivors.

"Cas?"

He could see it in his eyes.

Sam knew. This was Jack. All of it.

And now Castiel looked around too, taking it in.

Their son was hurting, and in turn, he'd caused this. The walls were all but destroyed, windows and door gone, ceiling and roof completely blown off, gas station pumps were in blackened crisps, and cars were torn to bits. Amongst it all were a few bodies, some so badly burned Castiel wasn't sure how anyone would be able to identify them, and there was blood on the rubble from the main building itself, the few people who had been inside.

"I'm sorry," Jack whimpered out.

Somehow the Impala had survived. A pipe had been driven through the back window, and the rubber was surely a tad burnt, but it was still there. Castiel wondered if it had something to do with the comfort the vehicle offered to Jack.

So he helped Sam up, feeling numb after everything, knowing Sam probably felt his heart in his throat, and he was incredibly tense, and then he tried to get Jack.

He crouched down by his son, who was hugging his knees to his chest, sobbing. "We have to go. If we stay here there'll be questions."

"No."

"Jack, we can talk about it, but not right now, okay?"

He tried reaching out for him, and he moved away. Castiel curled his fingers closed, upset flaring in his chest.

"Did you know?" he asked.

"Know what?"

"What they did to me in that room. Did you know?"

"I did," he answered honestly, now realizing what had happened. Some of Jack's memories had come back, and Castiel wanted to wrap him up in his arms and hold him, but he knew it wasn't what he wanted at the moment. "I didn't understand it, but I saw."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Castiel glanced around, and Sam was standing by them, but the sirens were getting closer, and a few people had their phones out, recording this.

"Jack, we can do this when we're safe," he informed him.

"No. I did this."

"You did," Castiel told him. "But it wasn't out of malice."

"What if I'm just the bad guy? I can't save Heaven, and I… I…"

"Jack, you are not the bad guy. This was an accident."

Jack turned, gaze pointedly fixed on the ruined counter decorated with blood spray, and Castiel grabbed his face in one hand, holding him to his chest. His son didn't fight him, but he didn't fall into his arms either, cold, displaced, unsure about the universe in which he lived in.

"Hey, no. Don't look. Don't look. You didn't mean it."

It was true. He hadn't meant it. There wasn't darkness in his son, but he was a being who could level a city if he had a bad day, and he was going to have a lot of bad days to come. Castiel didn't know what to do about it, but he knew shielding him from seeing further violence at the moment was all he could do.

None of the onlookers had approached them, too terrified, but if anything non-human got word of this the angels could be after them again, or maybe even demons. To them, Jack was a weapon, a thing, some device that could be thrown away after he stopped serving his purpose, but the boy in his arms was so much more than that.

"Come on, Jack, let's go. We'll get home. It'll be alright."

He lifted his head up, "Sam?" he asked.

Hearing his name, his friend came over, shoulders raised slightly, hands looking ready to clench so nails could dig into his palms, but still he came.

"You're okay?" Jack asked.

"Castiel healed me."

"But you're okay?"

"Jack, we have to go," Sam insisted.

So Sam wasn't okay.

Castiel couldn't blame him, but Jack… Jack hadn't _meant_ for this to happen.

"Let's go home," Castiel said, rising, trying to pull Jack up.

He pulled away from him, hugging his arms to himself.

"What they did to me," he said."I don't… I don't… Why?"

"Jack-" Sam began.

" _Why?_ They said they needed me, that I could save Heaven. But all they did was hurt me."

"They did hurt you, Jack," Castiel began, "and they hurt you a lot, which is why we need to get you somewhere safe right now. We have to get back to the bunker."

Jack took in all he'd done, and Castiel wasn't quick enough to shield him from it. He meant to, but Sam grabbed his bicep, a sign to keep back. Jack rose, and now he faced all the people that were still recording, and Castiel could see the red and blue flashing lights of firetrucks, ambulances, and police cars further down the road.

"Jack."

His son wasn't crying when he faced him again, but he saw the pain there, and he said quietly, "I can't go with you."

Before Castiel could do anything, his son waved his hand, and he, Sam, and the Impala were in the bunker garage.

"Jack? Jack! _Jack!_ " Sam called, but to no effect, racing around in a panic, voice echoing about the spacious room.

Jack was gone, and Castiel no longer sensed his presence.

"What do we do?" Sam asked, voice raised and brittle with his emotion. "Cas, what do we do?"

Castiel faltered, mouth open, unable to answer. Oh god, _Jack_.

"I don't know," he forced out.

His friend collapsed against the Impala, more tears falling, and Castiel went to sit with him.

Jack. Oh, Jack.

A million things were going through his head, so much so that he couldn't breathe, couldn't articulate anything, couldn't move, and so he just sat there.

What would they tell Dean?

What if Jack got captured again?

What if Jack got hurt?

What if he hurt someone?

Most of all, he didn't want him to be alone.

"What did we do wrong?" Sam asked. "I… I thought we were doing okay, you know?"

"Are you okay?"

Sam's lips turned down, and he answered, "No. My kid almost killed me."

He inhaled deeply, the breath shaky, and Castiel put a hand on his shoulder.

"God, what have we done? Maybe Dean was right about him from the get-go. We-we can't _do this_. We can't even stop him from hurting us! He almost killed my brother, he's almost killed me, and the worst thing is, I know he can't help it. Jack's not evil."

"No, he's not."

"Then what do we do? I mean, there has to be something right? There's always something."

"I don't think there is this time."

"He's our kid. And now…" Sam trailed off and glanced over the Impala, the shattered glass, the pipe through it, and he got out, "Dean's gonna kill us."

"Yep."

"Well, might as well tell him and get it over with." Castiel started pulling out his phone, but Sam tapped him, and said, "Nah, I got it." He frowned at the device, sniffling as he tried to compose himself. "Huh, Dean called."

* * *

Jack's emptiness took over once he made sure Sam, and Castiel were home safely. The onlookers stepped back in fear and surprise, gasping, some swearing, calling out, and Jack looked at them, really looked at them.

They were afraid.

They were afraid of him.

There wasn't kindness there.

If kindness couldn't be found in humanity, then where could it be found?

A memory from Heaven came back to him, lost and broken, but still his, still there. His wings. He could fly. Jack could fly.

So he did, and he didn't know where he was - maybe an abandoned warehouse of some sort - but it was dark, and alone. Exhausted, memories still pounding through him, threatening to tear him to shreds, Jack laid down on the stone floor, and he hated everything he knew of. He hated Heaven, hated the angels, hated Nathaniel, hated Anael, hated his dead unborn daughter, hated humanity, hated himself.

But Sam, Dean, and Cas… He couldn't put them in that hate, but he'd gone too far, been pushed too hard, and now… Now what were they going to think?

Heaven was dying, he'd killed, he'd hurt. And now he knew.

 _I am the bad guy._

* * *

The message they got from Dean was nothing either of them were prepared for, so the two of them just sat there in silence, powerless, realizing they'd failed, that maybe the end was coming, and that perhaps it was time to call it quits.

Not believing it, Castiel gently pried the phone from Sam's shaking fingers, and he played the voicemail again: "Sammy, I.. I hate doing this, I hate calling you like this, hate having to leave a stupid message for something this big, but… Look, I'm just gonna say it. He's back. Lucifer's back."

Jack gone.

Lucifer back.

Yet even as Castiel sat there, he didn't question his faith in Jack. Instead he questioned his faith in God, in the world, in humanity, in angels, in everything but his family. And it was his family he wanted by his side. He wanted not just Sam, but Dean, and their son. He wanted to be whole.

Imbued with new purpose, the will to rebuild what he'd found once Heaven had cast him aside, he got to his feet, and he held out his hand for Sam.

"Come on, Sam. Let's go find our son."

Sam looked at him, adam's apple bobbing up and down, eyes red-rimmed and filled with tears, body tense to the point where it seemed like he was trying to scrunch himself up into nothing.

One tear fell, sliding down his cheek, streaking through the ash and blood, and he took Castiel's hand.


	33. All the King's Horses

**A/N: This chapter includes quotes from episodes 13x03 "Patience", and 13x04 "The Big Empty".**

* * *

The Grace Lucifer had eaten had to be used to heal himself. He wanted to go after Dean, rip his face off with his teeth for even getting involved, but now he'd been slowed down, and he was in search of another angel. They were somewhere on Earth, close, and he needed them.

Lucifer would regain his strength, and he would find his son.

Tracking the angel led him south of his path from the bunker, frustrating him, but he held that frustration in, letting it boil into anger to join the rest that he had. He'd take it out on the angel if he had a chance, or he'd save it for the Winchesters and Castiel, save it for their bodies that could only take so much pain before they would give and snap beneath him. Well, Sam wasn't one to snap so easily. Nearly two centuries he'd spent with him, learning him, knowing him more intimately than he'd known anyone else before, and the Winchester hadn't become his pet, hadn't jumped to obey his every command or snap of his fingers, or begged and pleaded with joy or cried praise at his feet. Breaking him in such a way was tempting, breaking all three in that way even more so, with his son at his side, teaching him the ways of pure power, of dominion over all.

But first he needed Grace, needed the angel.

They were staying put wherever they were, and he was led away from civilization. The grimy part of the town turned into dirt roads and tracks, which became rural, signs of humanity far and few between, the land all flat plains and brownish-yellow fields that bored him to death, broken up here and there with a small, flat-topped hill and thin, scraggly trees standing all alone. Every once in awhile as the day drew on he'd find a ramshackle house next to a water-stained barn, wind blowing cold and biting, mocking him, and he considered going inside for a bit, seeing how hospitable the humans were, if he could warm up. And if they weren't friendly he could enforce his will on them, but no, he passed them by.

 _Won't be needing it soon._

The Grace.

Had to get to the Grace.

He passed into a copse of trees, a small stream that looked more like a sloshing puddle and bit of mud leading the way, the sensation of the angel so strong he could feel it tingling in his spine, and there he saw her, white and gray clothes dirt-stained, back against a cottonwood.

Lucifer stopped when his eyes took her in, his foot resting on a stone. So this was what had happened to the angel who had tried to lead Heaven.

"Wow, Duma," he began, "almost didn't recognize you. You're so dirty."

"And you're so human," she retorted, words biting, but voice empty.

"Fine. Fine, that's a fair point."

He stared hard at her, squinting, hands on his hips, and he smiled, shaking his head.

"You know, I'm a little confused. Why aren't you running? That's the usual reception I get, you know? Or at least a scream." She glared. "Not even a little whinny of terror?" Still nothing. "No? Okay."

"If you must know, I'm tired."

He nodded, looking around, the bare trees, the dark earth covered in dead, fallen leaves, the muddied ground. Interesting place for a former ruler of Heaven to die, though, not a rightful ruler, so perhaps it suited her.

"What's the deal?" he asked, coming forward, deciding he'd indulge himself in his desire to play with his food. Lucifer hadn't had good fun in awhile, not since his time with Mary, and even then she wasn't as fun as Sam could be. Maybe Duma would be at least a little entertaining. "The other angels were too mean or something? Didn't like playing with the big kids?"

"I sinned."

"Oh, joining the demons, huh?"

He was nearby now, and crouched down, holding his hand up for a high five. When she did nothing, stared at him as if she wished him to go away he grabbed her wrist and slapped their hands together.

"Good on you!" he congratulated. Lucifer took a seat beside her, feigning excitement. "What'd you do? You kill somebody? Was it gory? Or, ooh, let me guess, you had a little fun, turned someone into your slave." Duma wearily turned her head to him. "Huh?" He nudged her. "Come on, spill."

"You'll kill me for it."

He patted her on the head. "No hard feelings, I'm gonna do that anyway."

Lucifer had expected at least _some_ reaction from this announcement, but Duma apparently had lost any will or motivation for life. She was tired, had just simply given up. Ruling Heaven really hadn't gone well for her. What had she led them to? No, he didn't care. What he saw was opportunity. Maybe he'd blown it now that he'd left two angels alive to report back that he wanted to eat them, but hey, no one was perfect.

"Come on, I'll understand. It's me, Father of Sin."

"But you enjoy it."

"Sure, but I know what it is. It's dark, and creepy, and not everyone's made for it. Look, do I think humans are disgusting? Yeah, and are demons? You bet. You guys I hate too, but sinful, depraved? I wouldn't think it. I made demons. I made them to not be you guys, to-to hurt, to kill, to rape, to rip apart anything with life, to be _worse_ than humans. And angels - angels, you guys are fucked up in your own way - don't get me wrong - but you're light, so if you're messed up inside because of it, I can understand. Empathize? No. But understand? Yes."

Duma shook her head, eyes wide, bewildered.

"And here I've been thinking for thousands of years that you were an idiot."

"That what they say upstairs?"

"Full offense, but you act like one."

Lucifer shrugged, not hurt by her words. Besides, she was beneath him. They all were.

"So what'd you do?" he asked, voice gentle, genuinely curious about what could have an angel so torn up, what could lead to her downfall.

"You'll kill me afterwards?" she asked.

"What, do I have to pinky promise or something? Why do ya think I came all the way out here? I'm gonna eat you, Duma."

The angel nodded, tears brimming in her eyes.

"Alright, then, well… I hurt your son."

"Excuse me?"

Lucifer was stunned, on his feet now, but Duma was going on as if a flood had been released, "I manipulated a child, and I used him, and I had him raped, and I-"

He grabbed her by her jaw, pulling her up to her feet, feeling what Grace he did have in him raging to the forefront, eyes glowing red.

" _You don't touch my son!_ "

"I know, I know! Lucifer, I'm sorry! I did wrong! Please, just kill me! Please, I beg of you. _Please!_ "

"You hurt him?" he asked.

Tears were tracking through the dirt on her face now.

"I did. Y-yes, I did. He was my prisoner."

"Where is he?" No answer, so he slammed her head back against the tree, hard enough so that blood flew, and a cry left her. " _Where is he?_ "

Her voice came out in a pained gasp, "With the Winchesters. They saved him. They were right to. He doesn't belong to me, or to you, or them. He's his own person."

Having had enough of her, Lucifer took out the angel blade he'd gotten off of the angel he'd eaten earlier, and he slit her throat, bringing his mouth to her neck to suck up her Grace. His fury had him devouring her in mere seconds, and the vessel devoid of any life fell to the ground, face down in the mud.

Power coursed through him, but he was still not fully whole again.

He needed his son, and if he wouldn't fall into line, even with all the horrendous things Duma claimed to have done to him, he'd bring him to heel some other way.

Lucifer kicked her body, satisfied by the crunch of bone that met his ears, and he responded to her last words, feeling challenged by them, even in her death, "Yeah, well we'll see about that."

* * *

"I'm sorry, _what_?" Dean all but shouted into the phone, making Sam have to pull it away from his ear.

They were sitting in the library, Sam's laptop out, trying to track Jack's phone, but the signal was weak. They had the news pulled up on his tablet, wondering what word had gotten out about what had gone down at the gas station.

Sam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face and then into his hair, staring at the red dot that told him where his son's last signal was from, which was the gas station, but now the program wasn't sure.

"Fine, I'll say it again," Sam snapped, on edge from everything - almost dying, losing Jack, Dean's voicemail. "We lost Jack."

"What?!"

"Do you want me to say it in Spanish? Elvish?"

As Dean started to say something else, Castiel grabbed the phone from Sam's hand, and put it on speaker.

"Get back here," he growled at him. "We'll find our son, and you can be mad later."

"I'm friggin' mad now."

"Yeah, well we're not happy either," Sam got out. "You were supposed to be _here_."

"What, you want me to just stay home like some freakin' housewife while you two are out with the kid? I found a job, I tried to take care of it. And uh, I found out some crucial information here, you know, about the fucking Devil and all."

Sam was up and out of his chair at that, chills running down his spine, and dread settling in his stomach.

Cas' eyes were on him.

"Dean, just listen. Jack got some of his memories back. There was an accident, he brought Sam and I back to the bunker, and now we don't know where he is. He's our first priority."

"An accident? What do you mean there was an accident? Are you two okay?"

"I'm fine. Sam's… I healed him."

Sam was pacing back and forth in front of one of the bookshelves, running his hands through his hair, pulling at it without realizing it.

Jack gone.

Lucifer back.

Lucifer.

 _No, no, no, no, no._

Dean and Cas were still talking, voices raised, Cas going over the incident at the gas station.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, seeing beams falling, the ceiling coming apart, shelves flying outwards, blood spattering on the walls, mind taken over with agony.

Agony that he knew from the Cage.

And now he was coming.

He was coming.

 _He's gonna get me._

Maybe Cas shouldn't have healed him, maybe he should've died, maybe-

"Sammy! Sam!"

"Sam."

Castiel's hand was on his shoulder, and Sam grabbed him, trying to shove him away, which only made him fall back into the bookcase, his friend's hand still on him. The phone was gripped tight in Cas' other hand, Dean's voice calling his name on the other line. Castiel stared at him with worry.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean asked. "Cas, he okay? Someone talk to me."

"Dean, he'll be fine," Cas assured.

Sam nodded, but still didn't feel as if words would come to him.

He held onto Castiel's arm, remembering how Jack had looked sitting amongst the wreckage, so alone, hurt. Sam knew how he felt.

"Look, Sammy," Dean went on. "I'm gonna get back, we're gonna find the kid."

"You… You want to find him?" Sam asked, stunned that his brother would want such a thing after what had happened. "He's dangerous."

"He's got a soul, don't he?" he responded as if it was the most simple thing in the world. "Hang tight, I'll be round in a couple hours."

Dean hung up, and Castiel handed Sam back his phone.

"That's it?" Sam asked. "He doesn't want to kill him for almost killing me? For killing other people?"

"Funny thing about all of us, we've all been to that dark place. We've all killed people, we've all done the wrong thing, but we've all saved each other. And Jack, Jack's not like we were, like when I thought I was God, or when you were soulless, or when Dean was a demon. He's just a hurt kid. We don't need to save him. We just have to be there for him. I think Dean knows that."

Sam nodded, and Castiel led Sam over to the table.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"No," he muttered, glaring at his computer as if his negative emotions would will the program to show him his son. "My kid almost kills me, and then Lucifer's back in the picture? Does God get off to this or something?"

"I don't know the inner workings of my Father's mind, but I would hope he doesn't have a part in this, that he is just… gone, as much as it hurts to think it. You know, Sam, he gave you - humanity - free will, and I think that's just what we have to do here: make our own choices, pick a path, not knowing if it's right or wrong, but doing it because we can, and fighting for what we have.

"He created the angels to watch over you, but they failed in that, and in their failings you've shown you're so much better than them. You gave me purpose, Sam, you and Dean, a family. So with everything that's happening, I promise I will stick by you."

Sam met his friend's sturdy gaze and found strength there. It didn't chase away the fear, the new traumas in his life, the struggles of their son, but he was there, and that's what mattered.

A thought came to him and he looked around the library now, suddenly bewildered by it all.

"Cas, when did it get to this?" Sam asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I just wanted a normal life, and here I am, sitting with my brother's boyfriend, _an angel_ , chatting about our kid, a nephilim, who almost killed me."

"Do you wish you could go back to before all this?"

A green dot popped up on the map on his laptop, showing Sam that Jack was near Springfield, Massachusetts.

"Not at all."

* * *

Jack laid down on the cold floor for a long time, till his body was sore. He idly brushed his fingers across the dirt and dust on the stone, watching the patterns of them dragging, wondering when sensation would return to him, when this numbness in him would be filled. The machines in his head did their work.

He saw Sam bleeding, Castiel crying, destruction all around them.

Dean lying in the grass, motionless, trees creaking and falling.

The machines.

Save Heaven.

Jack couldn't save anyone.

All Jack did was hurt.

 _I'm the bad guy._

A sound met his ears in the dark warehouse, but he couldn't bother himself with sitting up. Why did it matter? It was as if his chest was caving in, a hole forming in his stomach, as he remembered being used, torn apart, taken from. As he realized who he was. Jack should just stay down.

High-heeled footsteps, two sets of them, were approaching, and he set his weary eyes on the women in black suits who stood by him now. Only, they weren't just women. Jack could feel it. They were demons.

He pushed himself up from the ground, letting his bangs fall over his forehead, and he glared up at them.

"What do you want?" he asked, a challenging growl in his voice.

The shorter one with long flowing hair and dark skin crouched down by him. Her eyes were fully black and Jack was too numb to be unnerved, to realize that he might be in danger.

So what if they captured him?

"You want to use me?" he went on. "That's all I'm good for."

"No, Jack," she told him, voice pleasant and sweet. "We want to offer you the position of a lifetime."

Jack glared at her, to the other woman, this one with dirty blonde hair shorter than Sam's, and she had almost kind, child-like features, and bright, green eyes.

"You're just trying to manipulate me." Jack stood, happy that he was taller than both of them. "Be honest about why you want me, or go away."

"No, Jack," the blonde demon said. "We want to help you."

"I don't need any help."

The other demon was standing to her full height now, which wasn't much over five feet, even with the heels, and both approached him, making him take a step back, hands out in a warning.

"We're doing this poorly," the first demon who had spoken said. "Perhaps we should've sent someone else. Jack, Asmodeus is away overseeing some project of his in the inner depths of Hell, leaving the throne open."

"What are you saying?"

" _You_ , the son of Lucifer," the blonde said, "are the rightful heir. Asmodeus is just a steward, keeping things running until you're ready to ascend, or until your father returns. But you are here _now_ , and we've heard of what you can do. We know you've been Heaven's prisoner, but, Jack, now you're free, free to make your own choices, to be who you're meant to be."

"And who you're meant to be isn't alone, or a prisoner of angels. You're a son of a _king_ , a power to be feared. Jack, we're offering you the throne of Hell."

Jack's world dropped out from beneath his feet, and the demons drew farther away. Maybe he'd stepped back from them.

The machines and angels were up above, the ones he'd hurt here, on Earth, but Hell…

"You're giving me Hell," he stated, a near-question on his lips.

"It's yours by birth," he was told, but by which one he couldn't tell. Jack was turned away from them now, hands up by his head, breathing hard, puffing out air through his mouth.

" _I'm afraid._ "

" _Why? Why are you afraid?_ "

" _Sam thinks you were right, that-that I'm good. He wants me to believe it, too. It's just… I… I've hurt people. I didn't mean to. It was an accident. And I know I should feel bad, and I say I feel bad, but most of the time, I mostly… I don't feel anything. And that's why I think maybe… maybe I'm a monster._ "

" _Jack, it doesn't matter what you are. It matters what you do. And even monsters can do good in this world._ "

Jack had hurt people, and it had been an accident, and now he was just numb. His conversation with Mia as his mother had been about something else, less severe, but now he'd killed more people, he'd hurt his dads, his family, Dean, Sam. Sam.

He was a Nephilim, a child of Lucifer, a monster.

Without that, what was he?

He was what he did.

A killer, a failure, someone who couldn't save Heaven.

The bad guy.

He'd lost his chance to do good in this world.

Was this what he needed? Was this what was waiting for him?

Jack thought of his dads: Sam, Dean, Castiel. They'd be disappointed, betrayed, but maybe they'd never want to see him again anyway. It wasn't okay. What he'd done, it wasn't _okay_. He knew that. He knew he was supposed to feel guilty, and maybe outside the numbness he did.

But what was guilt? Something that could just eat him?

Jack was tired, tired of all of it.

And still the machines worked.

Heaven had its machines.

Earth had its expectations that dragged into guilt.

Hell had… What did Hell have? Maybe it had what he needed: freedom, release, a place where he could accept that he was who he was - the bad guy.

" _Jack, don't let anyone tell you who you're supposed to be. Because who you're supposed to be isn't fate, it isn't me, it isn't your father. You are who you choose to be._ "

And Jack chose.

He took in a deep breath, lowering his hands to his sides, and turned to them, declaring, "I accept. Take me to Hell, and teach me to lead you." The demons smiled, seeming overjoyed, and already Jack's place in the universe after so much pain and wrongdoing seemed to settle over him. "I will be your new king."


	34. Hell Whispers

**A/N: Don't worry, even though it looks like it, I'm _not_ pulling a _Game of Thrones_ and turning the rape victim into a villain. That'd be wrong and gross. You might catch onto what I'm doing from some of Castiel's dialogue, and if my characters cooperate, might see more of the big picture in the next chapter.**

* * *

"This is Hell?" Jack asked.

He slowly waved his hand in front of him as he looked about the dark room, lit by a multitude of tall-standing candelabras. Low cells that reminded him of kennels were built into the old stone and brick behind him, and off to his right upon a dais of two steps was an ornate chair of carven metal, the designs elaborate, and pleasing, the seat and back of the chair a crimson velvet. This was the throne. The window behind the throne cast a beam of light that he stepped into when he went over to the throne to investigate, running his hands over it tentatively. Spindly branches reached up out of the left corner from the window, making him doubt his whereabouts, and he didn't feel as though he was in a different place.

The eerie room seemed to sell the theme of dark, and evil, and he wasn't sure he quite liked it, but at least with being in Heaven he had known he wasn't on Earth. Here, he couldn't tell the difference.

"No, we're still on Earth," one of the demons attending him informed him. It was the one with the long hair; he'd learned that her name was Marell.

Jack turned to her and the other demons in the room, unsure. There were five of them in all, Marell, the blonde - Jenna (she liked her vessel's name) - and three others, all willing to help him, to kneel when he said to, to listen to his rule, to… What else was it that demons did? Jack couldn't help but think of Sith Lords. Were they like that? Evil, murderers. He knew they were bad, like him. Bad guys, but what else was there? Torture?

Rape?

He cleared his mind of his moral questions, and asked, "Why aren't we in Hell?"

"Our former king, Crowley, ruled from here," Marell answered. "We thought perhaps you'd feel more comfortable in this place. After all, you are…" She trailed off, and bowed her head, seeming tentative about continuing her train of thought aloud.

Jack stepped off the dais, and went over to her, making sure he used his height to tower. He wasn't as tall as his dads, who were bigger than normal humans, but he was still tall.

"What? Continue." After a pause, he added, "I order you to."

"You are half human."

"I'm half archangel too, but you don't see me helping Heaven," he argued.

She stepped back, and he glared at the other demons.

"Do you?" he challenged.

They shook their heads.

"I don't have to be here," he told them, words empty, feeling as though they were coming from someone else. Jack was removed from this, all of it, no longer sure if he even belonged to himself, if he had maybe left his body up in Heaven with the angels and their machines. "I'm choosing to lead you, to follow my path as a being of Hell, after my father. _So take me to Hell_."

No one moved, or spoke, and Jack addressed all of them now, "I know there are portals, or Hell gates. Asmodeus took me to one when he captured me, when he _used me_. You aren't using me, are you?"

"No, my lord," they each responded in turn.

Jack walked about the throne room, _his_ throne room, observing them, trying to see the truth. Demons lied. His dads had taught him that.

If they were lying he wasn't sure how he would respond. Did he even care if he got used again? It wasn't like they were raping him, or chaining him down, putting machines on him and in him while they whispered he was a savior.

Still, Jack had the unnerving feeling that he lacked control of the room.

"Good." He forced a smile on his face, still unfeeling inside, but took that emptiness and from it drew forth his Grace, having his eyes glow gold. "Let's go to Hell."

* * *

Sam and Castiel met up with Dean in the garage, and the day was turning into evening now. Dean was already getting out of the car he'd taken for the case, hands gesturing wildly, ignoring his family. Baby. To top his friggin' day off they'd ruined Baby!

"What the hell'd you do to her?"

"Dean, it was what went down at the gas station," Sam explained as Dean rushed over to Baby, running his hand over the trunk, brushing off the shattered glass. He pulled the pipe out through the back window, tossing it aside, listening to it _clank!_ to the floor, and then he was running his hands over the dents in the Impala. "Look, Jack didn't mean it."

"If anything," Castiel began, "I think he did his best to save it. Everything else got destroyed."

"Fucking great," Dean muttered. " _Great_. And here I was planning a little somethin'-somethin' with you and me, Cas."

Cas just stared at him questioningly, and Sam blushed.

"What?" the angel asked, squinting his eyes and tilting his head, clearly not understanding.

"You, me, the backseat, an open field somewhere, some Led Zeppelin tracks, a little-"

Sam grimaced, and held up his hands, a gesture for him to stop. "Dean, I don't need to hear your sexual fantasies."

"Oh, right. Sex," Castiel realized. "Humans like to have sex in cars sometimes. Got it."

Dean winked at Cas, making him come and grab him away from the Impala, hand sliding down to his hip, and Sam just shook his head.

"Look, we have a serious problem here, can we focus on that?" his brother said.

All it took was one look at the worry gnawing away at him, the fear, the pain, the guilt, and Dean sobered up. He cleared his throat, cheeks reddening, and he put an arm around Cas, walking out of the garage to the war room.

"So any news on the kid? You haven't called with updates."

"He was in Springfield, Mass," Sam informed him. "But the signal disappeared an hour and a half ago."

"And you didn't call me?"

Castiel gave Dean a reassuring squeeze, fingers reaching under his shirt, and he let out a breath he'd been holding, feeling tension caught in his throat. The tension stayed, but he had to remind himself to breathe, keep going. It wasn't the end of the world.

It couldn't be.

It sure felt like it.

Lucifer back, the kid gone, his true home and place of solace destroyed. Everything was coming apart.

"Signal's been coming in and out since we lost him," Sam responded. "Maybe it'll come back."

"Or maybe it won't," Dean argued. "How's the news been? Anything gone Cocoa Puffs?"

They made it to the war room, and Dean sat down, immediately grabbing Sam's tablet to acquaint himself with what information there was, and Sam stood by his open laptop. Castiel was behind Dean, rubbing his shoulders, and god, he'd fucking missed him. He'd missed both of them, missed Jack, and now he was really missing the kid.

But he could understand running off, or wanting to.

Maybe Dean had never done it, not like Sam had, but oh, the times he'd wanted to.

Sam ran off the list, ticking them off on his fingers, "Cow born with two heads in Arizona, um… toddler that was going blind got some miracle cure up in Wisconsin, two dead virgins found in Mass, and lightning storms in Wyoming, and I mean, _a lot_ of lightning - power outages, trees setting on fire, you name it."

"Okay, uh… the cow thing, that's um… that's weird."

"Yeah."

"Miracle cure. Cas, you wanna check that out? Could be angelic."

"But what about the dead virgins, and the lightning storm?" Castiel asked. "Those are definitely demonic."

"Okay, demons and angels. What do we do here?" Sam asked, hands out, face going a bit red, sweat beading on his forehead. His little brother was panicking. "Angels want Jack for, well, making more angels, the demons have gone after Jack before. But Jack was _in_ Massachusetts. We know that. Maybe we gotta check that out."

"Could be Asmodeus," Castiel said, walking out from behind Dean, and grabbing Sam's laptop, clicking through various links. "He might be holed up in Crowley's old lair." He turned the laptop to them, showing them the tracking program Sam had been using, zooming in on the map, the red dot of where Jack's signal on his phone had been. Cas tapped the screen. "That's the lair. He's been there."

"Been there," Sam said. "Okay, past tense. So where is he now?"

"The miracle cure you mentioned, it doesn't sound like something an angel would do if they had him. They'd take him right back to Heaven to enslave and put to work."

"So Wyoming," Dean reasoned. "Why fucking Wyoming again? The demons already took him there once."

Castiel just glanced at them with wide, unsure eyes, lips slightly turned down, and Sam shrugged.

"Devil's gate again?" he suggested. "They gotta be using him for something."

"Alright, well, that's all the convincing I need. No piece of shit demon's touching our son. Let's grab our gear, let's head out."

Dean was already standing, and heading out of the room, when Sam rushed around the table, and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, hey. We don't know for sure that's where he is, and that's at least an eleven hour drive. Look, I want him back, Dean. You know I want him back. But we can't just go in there, no plan, no information. What if we get there and he's not even there? Then what?"

"So what do we do, hmm?" Dean asked. "We just sit here with our thumbs up our asses, wait for our son to get used, or tortured, or raped? _Again?_ " Dean shoved Sam off of him. "You know, Sam, I'd love that!"

"Dean. Dean!" Cas exclaimed, running up to intercede, grabbing him.

"All that rape, it's fucking fun, huh?!"

God, he didn't know what he was saying, or why he was saying it, but his chest hurt, and there were black spots in his vision.

He didn't have his son.

The demons did.

Demons were worse than angels.

Demons knew where to poke and prod, and tug, and pull, and _rip_. They knew were to touch. He'd seen it. In Hell. Oh god, he'd seen it. He'd done it, had it done to him.

But rape, they'd kept that away from him, but he knew they weren't above it. They'd threatened it. Day in and day out they'd threatened it, they'd stared, those eyes starving for carnal suffering.

And now they had Jack, a hurting child, so new to the world, so vulnerable and all alone.

Sam seemed to be tensing, face going red, Castiel now in between them, and Dean couldn't comprehend why… until Sam's fist hit him right in the jaw. Dean faltered back, holding his face.

"Sam!" Cas cried.

"Don't you dare say that to me!" Sam yelled. "Don't you fucking dare!"

"What, that the demons have our kid, and they're just gonna use his body six ways from Sunday?" Dean fumed, rising to his full height, taking his hand away from his jaw, even while it still throbbed. Hurt filled him, and it was the crimson of blood.

" _Shut up!_ "

Cas had a hand against Sam's chest, the other on his upraised arm, hand balled tightly into a fist, knuckles white, and Dean couldn't fathom what he'd done, but he saw agony in Sam's hazel eyes.

"Sam! Sam, he doesn't know what he's saying."

Dread pooled in Dean's stomach, hot and boiling, and his limbs started going weak. What was going on?

"Sammy?" Dean asked, voice quiet now, all his focus on his brother who looked as if he was about to attack him again, and then destroy all he could. His brother who looked as if he was going to scream, to break. Or maybe he already had. "Sammy, tell me. What is it? It's okay."

Sam pulled out of Castiel's grip, falling back against the table in the war room, a tear trailing down his face and dripping from his chin. He bowed his head, sniffling.

"That's the thing," he got out. "It's _not_."

The bunker was too quiet, filled to the brim with tension that would explode if a spark was set to it, and Dean was suffocating in it. He didn't dare move, not to step forward, not to even blink. Sam seemed to shrink before him, his giant of a brother hunching his shoulders, and curling in on himself like he wanted to disappear.

"D-Dean," Sam started, voice coated heavy with shame, almost as if it weighed his tongue down. "Jack's not… not the only one in our little family who's been… raped. I have too."

Then Dean was on the floor. He didn't remember how he ended up on the floor. Maybe he'd sat down, maybe he'd fallen down, but that's just where he was. His head was in his hands, and he wasn't sure if he was breathing. He could barely feel. Everything was just tingling and rushing and pounding, and he saw Sam's feet and legs, saw a bit of Castiel as well, just the shoes on his feet, saw the floor of the bunker, the legs of the chairs, the table. But was it real?

There was a lump in Dean's throat, impossible to swallow anything past it, to breathe past it.

He tried to inhale, and there were tears in his eyes as he looked up, stomach churning with nausea.

"No." He shook his head, pressing his lips together, chewing on his bottom one for a bit. "No. You're joking, right?" Even as he said it he knew he was wrong. The ache in his jaw told him that, the weight in Sam's gaze, in Castiel's - he'd _known_? - in how Sam was carrying himself now, like this was a thick, poisonous shadow upon him.

"Dean," Cas began, kneeling down by him, taking his arm, beginning to massage it, "he's telling the truth."

"You knew," he stated.

"I did."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean asked.

"The stuff you were saying earlier, when I punched you," Sam got out, shrugging, not meeting his gaze, or anyone's, "I thought you'd say it about me. I don't know, I thought you'd say I was weak, or… or disgusting, or that… that maybe I… maybe I - I don't know - maybe I liked it, or it was my fault somehow."

"What the fuck, Sammy," he breathed.

Dean was up on his feet immediately, Castiel following suit, and he wrapped Sam up in a hug, standing on his tiptoes so that he could put an arm around his shoulders.

"Don't you dare think that shit," he told him emphatically. "Don't you fucking dare. You're my god damn brother, Sammy, so I'm gonna tell you this and I'm always gonna be ready to tell you this: you're not weak, you're not disgusting, and it was never, _ever_ your fault." He thumped him on the back, and pulled away, his shoulder wet with Sam's tears. Dean looked him in the eye. "Look, I know we like to think we're badass, so we don't say this a lot, but I love you."

Sam's shoulders shook with a sob, which might've turned into a bit of a laugh, and he asked, "Dude, how do you not want to go on a murderous rampage right now?"

"Oh, trust me, I friggin' do. I want to know exactly who thought they could so much as look at you funny. I got guns, knives, I can go hunt them sons of bitches later, but right now our son's out there, and he needs our help."

"And you're… good?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head, wondering how the hell Sam could be thinking about him after what he'd just shared.

It was true, Dean wasn't alright, and his head wanted to conjure up images of Sam's suffering, of him naked, laid bare, getting touched and pleasured against his will. Shame filled him with those thoughts, those images, and he lowered his head just a tad, hoping Sam didn't see what lay in his mind.

Dean cleared his throat, patting him on the shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, Sammy, I'm good. I'm the biggest asshole in the world apparently, but I'm good." He smiled at him. "Don't stop being you, okay?"

Sam nodded.

"Wyoming?" Dean asked.

"Dean, we need a plan, remember?" Castiel interjected.

"Right!"

So they planned, and the plan they settled on was one Dean liked because if their new demon prisoner summoned straight up from Hell didn't cooperate Dean got to use his fists, or any other creative tools he saw fit. Their "new friend", as he liked to call him, was chained up in the dungeon, and not feeling quite so talkative.

The three of them stood before him now, arms crossed. Dean made sure he'd changed out of his suit from earlier and back into his regular clothes, hoping he'd look more gruff this way, and he had the sleeves of his red flannel rolled up, showing he was ready to get a little bloody.

"Not often I get invited to a party with such pretty boys," the demon teased.

His eyes were the black of his kind, and he was almost too pale, so Dean could see his veins, and he was gangly, with sharp, angular features, a long face, and a buzz cut.

"Maybe you should've worn a different suit for the occasion," Dean growled, indicating that he found him ugly.

"Yeah, well, I did the best I could on short notice."

Sam and Castiel started to circle him, glaring daggers, clearing hoping for intimidation. They'd step behind Dean, not ruining his focus.

"Good, then you won't mind if I cut it up a bit, maybe make a few tweaks." Dean leaned in and smiled, keeping his eyes cold. "You don't really need your teeth, do ya?"

"What do you want?"

"What's in Wyoming?"

"Your bitch mother."

Dean started to laugh, pretending he was amused, and then he threw a punch at the demon, and then he couldn't resist a few more, bloodying his fists.

The demon was whimpering by the time Dean stepped back and wrung out his hand.

Sam tried the question now, grabbing the demon by the skull in one large hand: "What's in Wyoming?"

Castiel stood by Dean and watched as he responded, "Oh, Sammy's asking a question. Well, in that case, your balls."

Sam snarled, and shoved him away from him. Dean pat him as he walked by to stand off to the side and behind him.

"Look, shit for brains, we know there are Devil's gates in Wyoming. You failed that test. So what's going down there, hmm? Come on, you hear anything, or are you just a loser that no one tells anything to?"

"People talk to me!"

"Oh, really?" Dean challenged. "Nah, I don't think so."

"Doesn't mean I'll tell you anything."

Dean shrugged, inhaled deeply and went up to get in about ten more punches, doing it till Cas and Sam were pulling him back, till his knuckles were red and swollen and bleeding and the demon was becoming unrecognizable as the one they'd summoned.

"You want me to get a hammer?!" Dean yelled. "We're on the clock, buddy!"

He didn't talk just then, so Dean did get a hammer. He smashed up his left kneecap, his right hand, his right shoulder, and when he was threatening to take it to his head, the demon finally spilled it.

"We have a new ruler! Demons are congregating at a Devil's gate in Wyoming because he refuses to rule from Crowley's former lair on Earth!"

"And who's your ruler?" Castiel asked.

"Lucifer?" Sam questioned.

"No," the demon heaved out, blood spilling from cuts on his lip, even as Dean raised the bloodied hammer as a threat. "His son. Jack."

* * *

Hell was dark and hot and _loud_. No one had told him it was going to be loud. There was screaming, and his first instinct was to cover his ears.

In his head he heard his own screaming.

The machines, the drill.

Jack was begging them to stop.

Emptiness, numbness.

He was led through the halls of brown-gray brick and stone. They were ancient, dark, lit by rivulets of magma that ran through cracks in the floor. Jack didn't see any of those who were screaming, imagined they were down below him, but he could smell their fear and torment, and from some, even sick enjoyment, or perhaps that was something he smelled from the demons.

So this is what bad guys were like.

* * *

The hammer almost fell from Dean's hands. "You're lying."

* * *

They led him to an office, that in a half hour under the attention of many servants was cleaned up, dusted out, and well-furnished once more. It had used to be Crowley's.

Jack was wondering about Crowley. He didn't seem like royalty, not like himself, not like his father. But he supposed it didn't matter if he was dead.

He sat behind the massive desk on the far side of the room now, his jacket off and in his T-shirt, hands folded in front of him. The door was closed, keeping out the sounds of torment, but there was still that heavy, non-ethereal sense all around him. It was almost the exact opposite of Heaven, but honest with its sins.

"So what's the first order or business?" Jack asked. "Do I need a coronation?" He'd seen enough movies to realize he at least needed that. He couldn't just sit here and rule from this office with demons waiting on him without the news going out first. And he needed a crown.

"If you wish," Marell told him. "Hell hasn't had coronations before."

Jack frowned, sitting back in his seat. "Oh."

"We can have one!" she quickly told him. "We'll have a crown of bone fashioned for you, and we'll hold the ceremony in one of the ancient halls above the soul prisons."

Jack forced a smile on his face, disappointed in himself for not being excited, but knowing he should be feeling it.

"Sounds wonderful."

* * *

The demon's laugh seemed to echo about the dungeon, penetrating Dean, and maybe all three of them.

"I'm not. You thought the kid was yours! I can see it. That's hilarious. He ain't yours, and he never was. He's Lucifer's. Always was, always has been, right from the day he had his fun with his whore of a mom."

Dean sensed Sam tensing at his side, and he put his hand back a few inches, letting him know to stay back, and that he was aware of his pain, that he was with him.

"He's Hell's little toy now. And he's gonna be a king."

* * *

Marell left Jack with another demon, this one in the vessel of a large man who was even taller than Sam, maybe by a couple inches, and he was muscular and gruff, with a strong jaw. He was supposed to show Jack his new realm, teach him the ways of demons.

Dread scratched at the edge of his mind, but he brushed it away, or else the machines and the drill would get in.

* * *

"But… But he's just a kid," Sam argued.

"Yep! Gonna have people whispering in his ear, telling him who to be, what to do, who to hurt. His life ain't his own."

* * *

"So the angels had you," the big demon ventured.

"Yes," Jack answered honestly, though he felt a tingling amongst the numbness.

He was getting led down a sloping path, going deeper into darkness, torches and braziers on either side. It was eerily still save for the flickering of flames, like a tomb. The walls seemed to be closing in on him the deeper they went into Hell, into his realm, but Jack told himself he was imagining it. These weren't the never-ending white halls of Heaven, or the drudgery of Earth. This was something else. The screams were getting louder, and Jack thought maybe he could smell blood.

"There've been rumors," he went on. "They hurt you."

"They did."

There was a lump in his throat, and he tried swallowing it away.

"So what'd they do?"

Jack stopped, and turned to him, hating how he had to crane his head up, but kept an impassive look on his face.

"I'm sure you can come up with it all on your own," he told him, not willing to disclose his imprisonment, shame beating inside him, trying to bleed through the glass casing that was this emotionless state. "You demons like to torture, don't you?"

"Yes… my lord."

"Well, then. They tortured me. Go from there. Use your imagination. Though… I'd prefer if you didn't think about it. Up there I… I was a _thing_ that they could use. I don't want to be that."

The demon gave Jack a smile that seemed to almost send a chill through him, and he put an arm around him.

"Don't worry, little king. You won't be."

* * *

Dean was shoved aside, hammer falling from his hands and banging on the floor. Before he could react Castiel had grabbed the demon, lifting him up, chair and all.

"You lie!" he asserted. "Say it! Tell me you're lying."

"There are plenty of lies I'd love to tell you, pretty boy," he spat, "but this ain't one of 'em. He belongs to Hell now. I wonder what they'll call him. Maybe Abomination.

"You like that one, Sammy?"

* * *

As Jack was shown Hell he was told about its history, about his father, his _true_ father, how he'd defied God and been locked away, how he'd created demons to be his own. And in turn the demons served him, running Hell, damning souls, committing wrongs against humanity and God's angels.

What all the wrongs were Jack couldn't entirely fathom.

When he imagined evil he imagined himself - almost killing Dean, and Sam, what he'd done at the gas station, killing that security guard.

Evil was hurting people.

Evil was all he was good for.

So by the time he was shown to a dark room, the walls metal grates that had all kinds of wickedly sharp and cruel devices hanging from them, Jack just stared, wondering what more he could do to fulfill his role of being a bad guy.

It was what he wanted.

It had to be.

* * *

Castiel dropped the demon, putting a hand to his head, Sam and Dean yelling for him to stop, but it was no use. In a matter of seconds both of them were shielding their eyes against their friend's angelic light, holding each other as the demon was obliterated.

"What the hell, Cas!" Sam cried. "We could've used him to get us to Wyoming!"

Castiel brushed past both of them, seeming to purposefully rub himself up against Dean in that way he tended to do when he was angry, as if he wanted Dean to _feel it_.

"Then summon another. And make sure his information was good."

"Wait, where are you going?" Dean asked, grabbing his arm.

His boyfriend let that stop him, and he stilled. He turned, getting close, and Dean found himself taking a step back, heart leaping up into his throat.

"I _can't_ be here. I can't do it. I can't just stand and listen to this. Jack wouldn't. He wouldn't do this!"

"Cas, I don't believe it either," Sam said, "but we gotta look at the facts."

Now Castiel was rounding on him. "And the facts are that one lowlife said he's king. _One_. Get another demon and _start carving_."

"And what if they say the same thing, huh?" Dean asked. "What then?"

"Then we bring him home," Cas said. "It's not Jack. You know it's not. He's hurting. You didn't see it. None of you did, what he went through up there. _I. Did._ They put machines on him! _In_ him! They took from him, they used him till he was half-dead!"

Dean inhaled deeply, but felt like the air didn't go in, and he saw Sam doing the same, tears building up in his eyes. His brother put his hands together over his mouth and nose, and Dean had a hand on his stomach, frowning.

Castiel went on, crying, not seeming to take in their reactions, "And they told him it was to save them! And now he thinks he failed, and he knows he's hurt us. Jack thinks he's bad, and he's going to test that. If that demon is right, that's what he's doing. He's testing it." Castiel leaned back against the table in the room, almost sitting on it. "But he's _wrong_. He's not bad. He's _hurt_."

Sam was pacing now, and Dean had to sit down, bracing himself with one hand, still feeling like he might puke.

Machines. Fucking machines. Was he serious?

 _Holy_ shit _._

No wonder Cas and the kid were both fucked up if that's what Cas had seen up there.

 _Oh god._

Sam ventured, "Cas, you uh… you mentioned… machines?"

His brother's face was turning green.

Castiel shook his head now, grimacing.

"I don't know, I don't… His nightmares, the things he couldn't remember. He remembers now. They'd take him to a room, and they'd… they'd have the machines work him like he was some kind of _thing_. They exhausted him. It was how they got his seed and his Grace from him. I don't think they ever figured out how to impregnate angels through sex."

"That's what Anael wouldn't tell us," Sam realized. "The fucking machines."

"God, I think she was right to keep it to herself," Dean breathed, still feeling as sick as his brother looked.

Sam leaned back against the wall, and crossed his arms. "Wow, I kinda want to go destroy Heaven right now."

Dean nodded in agreement.

"That's not our priority," Castiel said. "We need information from the demons. But… I don't think I can be here. If I do I'll just ruin things. I'll kill another one, and the next one, and the next one. You'll get nowhere with me."

"Then what will you do?" Dean asked.

"I'm going to pray to God, and see if he has the balls to answer."

Sam ventured, "And if not?"

Castiel was up, helping Dean onto his feet, and pulling him close now with a hand on his shirt, but he tilted his head back to Sam to answer, "Then we be our own gods."

The kiss that followed was the most invigorating one in Dean's life, and he left demon blood on Castiel's clothes.

"Alright," he said, clapping his hands together once his boyfriend left the dungeon. "Time to get back to work. Sammy, get the spell ready. Let's invite ourselves over another guest."

* * *

"Marell's getting the coronation ready?" Jack asked the big demon once he re-entered the room, a shivering woman standing behind him, hands and feet shackled, a bag over her head, her body naked as the day she was born. He was curious about what was happening now, but he had other priorities and didn't want to be ignored. All too often in Heaven his own wants and needs were ignored, except for when he'd been able to have sex with Anael, or Nathaniel.

"Yes, there's nothing to worry about. It should take place tomorrow night."

"Good."

"Jack, it's time to introduce you to the job that even human souls are offered here. As our king it'll be expected of you to take part in this."

The demon closed the grates serving as the door, and locked them, shoving the woman in front of him so that she almost fell into Jack. On instinct he reached out his hands, putting them to her shoulders to try and steady her, but that made her jump and cry out. The demon chuckled at this reaction.

Jack realized he should probably know this demon's name, but now he was too curious about this task and the woman to ask it.

He watched as he attached the shackles of her wrists to the ceiling, forcing her arms up, and making her stand on her tiptoes, and then the ones on her ankles were attached to the floor. The bag was taken off of her head, and Jack was shone the face of a young woman, maybe a little older than he himself looked, dark scraggly hair, dark eyes, skin covered in ash.

"What's this?" Jack asked, taking a step back, nervous, unable to help himself from glancing at her body.

The woman was crying, tears cleaning some of the ash from her face.

"This, my lord, is torture. Pick a device, and I'll show you just where to start ripping this pretty thing open." Another low laugh left him, and he pinched her cheek, making her turn her head away, still crying.

Jack felt sick to his stomach, tingling all over, black spots dancing in his vision, but he turned to the walls, balling his hands into fists.

He found a drill and picked it up, listening to the woman cry in fright.

 _I'm the bad guy._

Jack turned on the drill.

 _I'm the bad guy._


	35. Ashes, Ashes

**A/N: Quotes in this chapter are from chapter 2: "Bad Guys", chapter 6 "Home Sweet Home", and episode 13x02 "The Rising Son".**

 **WARNING: This chapter contains graphic depictions of torture, self harm, and suicidal thoughts.**

* * *

Sam couldn't help himself; he'd killed the second demon almost immediately. Sure, he knew he and Dean couldn't keep doing this, were running out of time and couldn't end up with their hands sliced up to Hell and back, but this one, well, she'd been telling him about what she'd do with him if she had him tied down to a bed, and she'd been… creative.

Sam lifted his head up as he sauntered back over to Dean, not bothering to wipe the knife that was dripping blood.

"Not gonna apologize for that."

"Guess the next spell's on me then. Gonna be a long night. Might as well get some whiskey."

"Drunk torture," Sam commented, giving him a sharp tilt of his head. "You sure we're gonna get anywhere with that?"

He dropped the knife on the table, and then went over to the chair, untying the body so he could drag it and pile it up against the wall with that of the other demon. The room was going to need a good cleaning after all this. Trails of blood were already on the floor, the scent of it permeating the air. As for their clothes, he wasn't sure they'd ever be free of the substance again, and they were just getting started.

Dean picked up the hammer crusted with blood, sending a half smile his way. "We're gonna get hammered."

"Dude."

"What? You admitted that… You know…" Sam grunted at that, weight settling down on him till he felt like he'd be crushed. "Jack's gone," he added to the list, "and I guess angels are kinky, pedophilic shits who shop at extreme-restraints-dot-com." Sam gave Dean a glance at the last part, and his brother shrugged. "Porn, dude. Just gotta look at porn."

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"Not really so big on sex these days."

"Right. Me being a dick again. Sorry. So yeah, I want a fucking drink. Don't you?"

Sam sank into the chair that had previously had their prisoner in it, and ran a hand through his hair.

"I want a clear head when we find Jack." He looked about the room, at the mess it was, the smell of blood cloying in his nose, making him sick. "He's gonna need us. We're his dads, Dean, and we don't know what the hell he could be going through right now. Showing up like… a mess-"

"You mean like Dad?" Dean asked, crossing his arms.

Sam lowered his head, guilt and shame eating his chest.

"Yeah. I don't want us to be like him. Drunk, angry. Scary."

Dean sucked in his bottom lip, nodding, but Sam still felt like there was a pickaxe chiseling away at him, telling him he was wrong for speaking up, for bringing any of this up amidst all this.

"So how am I gonna get through this?"

"Make 'em hurt," Sam said, tears in his eyes at the thought that this could help his brother. "The demons. Make 'em bleed till they got nothing left. And I'll be right here with you. We're gonna find him."

Dean forced a smile on his face, and it was robotic. There was a heat in his eyes, brought on from pain, worry about their son, but underneath it was excitement that Sam had seen in monsters before.

"Great. Enough lolly-gagging then," he told him, grabbing the demon-killing knife from where Sam had left it. "I think I just got an idea for my next art project."

* * *

Castiel was in Dean's room. There wasn't any other room he would be in for this. Dean had been his charge, the Righteous Man, the one who had brought him into all this, had taught him about humanity, had freed him from the iron grip of Heaven.

Now it was beyond Heaven he was going to pray, to God himself.

It was so very human - praying.

Dean had done it to him. He'd done it to him even when he hadn't realized it, when he'd simply wanted him, his emotions spiking. Castiel had kept those times to himself, enjoying the knowledge that Dean often thought about him in moments of pleasure. Prayer was a want of someone, a conversation, a plea for aid.

Castiel was going to demand.

So he didn't kneel before Dean's bed, hands clasped: he stood, head tilted up towards the ceiling, ready for his voice to be heard.

"God, I don't know if you're listening, and if you're not then so be it. But if you are then this is on you. All this. What your sons and daughters have done to Jack, the boy who appointed me to be his father, his protector, is an atrocity. Heaven is corrupt, sinful, a _stain_ on its intended purpose. And what are you doing? Nothing! You're doing _nothing_.

"They did it to save themselves, you know. To _save Heaven_. Save Heaven. What does that mean? Is it _worth_ saving if they've tarnished themselves? Are billions and billions of lives and souls worth the suffering of _my child_? I know you like sacrifice, but this has gone beyond that, and if you've been watching, if you're listening now, then you know it. This isn't sacrifice. This is exploitation, abuse, _sin_ , evil worthy of _Hell_. So, Father, have anything to say to that? Didn't you cast out Lucifer for such crimes? Or do you only care about precious humanity, see them as children too weak and dumb to know any better so they have to be nurtured and protected? Do you not care about the life of a half-breed, even one so beautiful and wonderful and new to this world as Jack? Is my son not worth your time? Am I not worth your time? Are none of us?"

Castiel paced as he spoke, starting to gesture with his hands. There was no answer to his questions, to this one-sided conversation, so he went on, "How's Amara, by the way? Does she enjoy the show as much as you do? Did you both enjoy watching a _child_ get _raped_ by your creations of heavenly virtue? How many times? A hundred? Two hundred?

"What did you do while he cried, while he screamed, while we fought and bled to save him? You did nothing! You did absolutely nothing, and you just sat up there and watched!

"And what are you doing now? Sam, Dean, and I - our boy is lost, supposedly the King of Hell, and _again_ , you're nowhere to be found. All the time I see humans praying to you, praising you, talking about you, saying, _God speaks in mysterious ways_ , or _you have to open yourself up to God's message_. But no, _no_. That's not what it is. You don't speak in mysterious ways. You don't speak at all, you don't _do_ anything!

"So how about you do something now? Just this once. You intervene. It's not the end of the world, but this boy, he means _everything_ to me. I saw what he can bring, a paradise on Earth. He's offering up much more than you ever did, so why shouldn't I help him? Why shouldn't I raise him and make him the best that he can be? Why shouldn't I try to carry him through this hurt that's been laid upon him? It's more than you've ever done, or will ever do.

"But you can change that. You can help us."

There was silence, so Castiel went on, realizing he wasn't quite finished yet, realizing he'd be content to yell at his father forever, "Sam and Dean - _good men_ , the best men I know - are bloodying themselves to try and find our boy. You-you _made_ us, all of us, all of _this_. Is there not an ounce of compassion in you?

"I have met you, and I would like to believe there is, because if not, then what's the point? So make there be a point. Come down from wherever you are, walk on this Earth amongst us, and… just bring me back my boy. Please, God. He's all I need."

Castiel didn't realize when tears had welled up in his eyes, throat aching, corners of his eyes stinging, or when they began to roll down his cheeks, but now he did fall to his knees, bowing his head low so that his forehead pressed against Dean's mattress. Here he was, a former soldier of god, a father, lost, helpless.

Castiel whispered, voice reaching his ears alone, "I just need my son to be okay."

* * *

Jack hadn't been able to find the way back to the room that he supposed was his office now. He'd stumbled through the halls, blinded and overwhelmed with the sounds of drilling, and when he did see all he saw was fire, and dark stone, and the red on his hands. He stumbled, tripping on a loose cobblestone, and a sob ripped its way from his chest when he fell to his hands and knees.

The drill was so loud, and Jack lifted up one shaking hand, ignoring the blood on it, to bang it against his head.

"Get out," he mumbled. "Get out, get out, _get out!_ "

He fell forward, covering his ears, lips trembling, saliva dripping from his mouth in his distress.

This wasn't how a king was supposed to be, curled up on the floor, crying, getting blood on his face and hair.

He remembered the drill that'd been put in his own head, over and over and over again, pummeling his memories, mutilating his very sense of self until he was no one.

The blood on his hands wasn't his own, belonged to someone whose name he didn't even know. But Jack wasn't sure he knew himself.

* * *

 _She was screaming. Even before Jack put the drill to her she was screaming, offering up all that was left of herself to avoid the drill, even willing to torture others to avoid it._

 _The big demon was yelling, but it was like cotton was stuffed in Jack's ears straight through to his brain now, everything moving in slow motion._

 _Hands on him, shaking him._

* * *

This wasn't right. It wasn't how things were supposed to be. He was a bad guy. He was! He was, he was, he was!

But bad guys didn't cry, they didn't fall down on the floor, weak.

They rose above others, stepped on them, held them down, and dominated.

It was what Jack wanted, to rule himself, if not others, to figure out who he was.

He wasn't a good guy.

So who else could he be?

But bad guys weren't this. Bad guys weren't weak, pathetic, miserable, disgusting children.

Bad guys were strong, confident, ruthless, malicious in all things.

And right now Jack didn't feel malicious. For a long while he hadn't been feeling anything, and now he just wanted to go home.

* * *

 _More yelling, he was sure of it, saw the big demon's mouth moving, face getting red, eyes black and threatening. Jack was shoved, shoved again, and he fell back, head whacking against different tools lining the wall._

 _He froze._

 _The drill was wrenched from his hand, sharp, hungry tip still whirring._

 _Blood flew and poured from the woman's head, hole after hole getting drilled into her, Hell defying the rules of human bodies._

 _Beating through that numbness, a voice that might've been his own, screaming without words, forgetting any that could describe what it felt to witness such a thing._

 _The drill was placed in his hand again, and for the millionth time in his life, Jack's body was not his own, as the big demon forced him to hurt, to maim, to ruin._

 _Jack looked into the woman's eyes, and he didn't see a sinner._

 _He saw someone who'd made a mistake._

 _Jack had made a mistake._

* * *

 _You can't go home,_ he told himself. _You can't go home now. You can't. You hurt them. Why did you hurt them? You always hurt them!_

He started chanting it out loud, making a fist and hitting himself in the chest as he yelled it, "You hurt them! You hurt them, you _hurt them!_ "

Jack yearned for a knife, something more than his fist.

Or maybe…

Maybe he didn't need the knife.

Maybe Jack could be the weapon.

He put a hand to his arm, willing thoughts of agony into his mind.

* * *

" _Where is he?_ " Dean yelled, landing a well-aimed hit at the demon's collarbone, push dagger held between his index and middle finger, blade sinking in. For good measure he raked it down his torso, listening to him grunt and cry out.

This demon was a big one, at least as big as him, and he had the whole ex-military vibe going for him: muscular, crew cut, wearing an M-65 field jacket that was already getting smeared with blood.

Dean received a black-eyed glare instead of an answer, and the demon licked his bottom lip, as if he was sizing up a good meal. Dean had already been working at this guy for a bit, but his blood was pumping, everything in a violent haze of red, and god, it was like being on top of the world. Sam was still there, helping when need be, but he seemed content to let Dean do the work.

He gave him an uppercut right into his stomach, digging the push dagger in deep, a gurgling laugh coming from the demon, blood spraying from his mouth onto Dean's face.

He twisted the dagger, feeling him tense, and strain.

"I know you know where he is," Dean said. "We heard something pretty interesting from one of your buddies. You just gotta tell us what you know."

"And then what?"

"And then we'll see what we need to do about it," Sam answered from behind Dean. "Got it?"

"How about we make a deal?" he asked.

Dean pulled the dagger from him, blood pouring from the wound, and he stepped back, handing Sam the push dagger, and holding out his hand for another torture device. Sammy knew him so well - he gave him the pliers.

"No, how about you listen to us," Dean told him, approaching, drumming the pliers against the palm of his hand. "You're supposed to have thirty-two teeth in there. That means, thirty-two chances to tell us about Jack Kline."

"Who?"

He was lying. Dean could tell in the too-calm way he said it, the shift of his feet, the slight lift of one corner of his mouth like he was egging Dean on, seeing if he'd do it.

Dean would do it alright. He'd done worse. Much worse.

"Sam, help me out here."

His brother listened to him, getting behind the demon, and holding his mouth open, even when he tried to bite. It was a struggle, both men grunting, Dean yelling at him to keep him still.

He chose a molar on the bottom right, hoping the blood and agony in the room would fill the emptiness left by his missing son.

Dean pulled the tooth, and his son was still gone.

* * *

It wasn't working. It wasn't working!

Jack took his hand off his arm, and settled for slamming himself against the wall, hoping it'd bruise and scrape.

It did.

"They don't want you!" he cried. "They don't want you!"

* * *

Tooth number six, and the demon started laughing, mouth drowning in blood. Sam's hands were aching from the sheer difficulty of keeping the demon's mouth open through his suffering. Sam was hot and cold watching it, feeling too much, till his nerves were being scorched by it.

Jack. They needed Jack. They just did. It couldn't be like this.

Sam saw the blood, the bodies, saw what he was doing, what Dean was doing, the almost playful light in his brother's eyes.

"I don't know where he is," he screeched at them as he wrested himself from Sam's grip, "but I'm gonna rape him when I find him. I'm gonna fucking rape him!"

Tingling started in him, buzzing, a ringing in his ears.

"You know where he is!" Dean yelled. "I know you do!"

"I'm gonna-"

Sam cut him off, shoving Dean aside, grabbing the demon, and hauling him, chair and all, across the dungeon.

"Sam. Sam, what are you doing?!" Dean cried.

"Getting him to talk" Sam yelled. "Help me carry him."

Dean placed the pliers down on the table and did just that. Sam was half-blind with rage and panic, one hand gripping the chair, the other hauling the demon by the neck, as he took him through the bunker, heading for the shower room.

"Sam, what the fuck is this?" his brother questioned, voice unsure.

He kicked the door open, took a knife from his boot, and cut the ropes. Then he was dragging him, kicking his feet out from under him when he could, and he got him in a stall and secured him to the showerhead. Sam pulled a spare rosary from his pocket, hung it up under the showerhead, and stared the demon dead in the eyes while chanting, " _Exorcizo te, creatura aquae. In nomine dei patris omnipotentis et in virtute spiritus sancti_."

And then he turned the water on.

* * *

The wall wasn't enough, and Jack had energy. Watching that woman bleed and be tormented had fueled him, filling him with something he couldn't quite explain.

He wanted to cut it out of him.

So he grabbed the wall, and he pulled himself up off the floor, and started walking, hoping whatever path his feet led him on there would be a knife at the end of it.

But Jack didn't know where he was, and he was too ashamed to call for Marell. There was an empty room, some sort of dining hall with a fireplace and a dark oak table, and windows with bars on them overlooking an empty, lifeless courtyard save for a fountain trickling blood. Jack sat himself down in the far corner, hugging his knees to his chest, making himself as small as possible. He stared out the window at Hell's version of the sky: blackness seething with fog, struck through with lightning.

 _At least it's not Heaven._

He turned his head downwards, focusing on the blood on his hands. They were slick with it, so coated it was startlingly bright against his skin, and went down to his wrists.

Was this what he was?

Jack had started his life by killing his mom.

Maybe Dean had been right in the beginning.

" _You know, my brother thinks you can be saved._ "

Jack had hurt Dean.

" _You don't believe that._ "

He'd hurt Castiel.

" _No, I don't_."

He'd hurt Sam.

" _So… if you're right?_ "

And now he was this - this _thing_ , this failure.

" _If I'm right… and it comes to killing you… I'll be the one to do it._ "

But if he was this, why had he run? Why did the drill scare him so much? Why did a sinner's blood hurt and ache inside?

Jack wanted it gone, and he couldn't do what Dean had planned those months ago, what he really wanted deep down, so he did what he knew his dads had tried to stop him from doing countless times: started scratching at his skin, picking, using so much force it didn't just sting, but it ached too. And then he started to tear.

"I don't matter," he breathed, muscles tensing as sharp sensation alighted in him. He tore off a few millimeters.

It wasn't enough.

"I hurt them."

A few centimeters.

More. He needed to do it more, to erase _this_ , to stop everything.

"I can't save Heaven."

Jack gave up at that statement feeling emptiness take him, and he slammed the palms of his hands against his knees in frustration. He hugged his arms to himself, fingers pressing tightly and he thought about pain, thought about _bad_.

Duma was bad.

Naomi was bad.

Cael was bad.

Laila was bad.

Ariel was bad.

Tamiel was bad.

Hell was bad.

He bit his bottom lip in surprise, feeling fire flare through him, in his arms, and then he got in a choked gasp.

Pain.

Jack was making himself feel pain, and he was _strong_.

Smoke rose from his skin.

* * *

Smoke stung in Sam's nose, curling up from the demon's skin so violently it almost blinded him, mixing with the steam, but he shouted over the pouring of the water, " _Where is he? What are you doing with him?_ "

The demon just writhed, jaw clenched, burning and burning from the holy water raining down on him. It got in his eyes (even with them squeezed shut), his nose, his mouth, till he was choking, water spluttering from his bleeding lips, blood pouring from him. Sam and Dean were drenched in seconds, and the floor of the shower was a thick red.

" _Tell us about Jack!_ " Sam demanded, grabbing him by the shirt and tugging him forward just so he could be out of the stream of water for a bit, but it still ran down his neck and back, leaving him trying to cry out while he coughed.

* * *

Clenching his jaw, pressing his feet hard against the floor, Jack held onto himself tightly, digging his fingernails into his sensitive skin, thinking more and more about _bad_. Bad, bad, bad. Bad guys, and bad things, and he was stinging and burning.

Jack took his hand away, saw a searing red handprint on himself, and he couldn't get enough of it, not sure if he was dead or alive, not sure of anything anymore save for the pain. He put his hand to his chest, already burning through his shirt, the heat in him like some hellfire he felt connected to, red eyes dancing in his head, and he hurt himself.

* * *

"We'll turn the water off!" Dean bargained. "Just tell us what's up, jackass! Or do you want more?!"

* * *

Jack's shirt was burning and falling off of him now, leaving him bare. He didn't even notice it, just wanted to try getting at his back.

" _You hurt them!_ " he yelled. " _You hurt them! You hurt them!_ "

* * *

"He's in Hell!"

* * *

He hurt himself, and he hurt himself, and he hurt himself.

* * *

"He's in Hell! W-we're trying to control him!"

* * *

" _You hurt them!_ "

* * *

Sam shut the water off.

* * *

Jack was fire, turning to ash.

* * *

"Take us there," he demanded, hand on the faucet, ready to turn it back on if the demon showed any inclination of not listening to him. "Dean's gonna get Castiel, and you're gonna take us there _now!_ "

* * *

But Jack wasn't bad.

* * *

The demon nodded tiredly.

* * *

Jack leaned back against the wall, exhausted, skin red and covered in itching, peeling welts that stung fiercely.

Not a King of Hell.

Not a bad guy.

A mistake.

* * *

Dean left the room to get the angel, and Sam threw a punch at the demon out of pure frustration that bled down into unadulterated, suffocating fear.

* * *

And from the depths of his empty, fiery mind… " _Heaven needs you._ "

* * *

They were going to Hell.

* * *

" _Heaven is dying, Jack._ _But you're a nephilim, the son of an archangel. You're powerful, and your power is going to keep Heaven alive._ "

* * *

Sam was going to save his kid. It didn't matter what he'd done, it didn't matter who his biological father was. He was _his kid_ , and around here, they looked after each other, bringing each other back from the abyss, from everything. They would get Jack.

* * *

" _Heaven needs you._ "


	36. Sam Dean Castiel

**A/N: Only one more chapter and an epilogue left after this one!**

 **Quotes from this chapter are from 13x03 "Patience".**

* * *

Castiel was ripped from his heated thoughts that were directed at his father when Dean, soaking wet, came careening into his room. He was on his feet in an instant, and they were in each other's arms, but his lover's grip was tight, panicked.

"Dean, what is it?"

"Hell. We're going to Hell. Come on."

Dean practically slammed a kiss to Castiel's cheek, and then grabbed his hand, leading him to the garage at a trot, calling Sam with a bloodied hand as he did so.

Castiel wanted to stop him, slow him down, ask him what he'd found out, but he knew.

The first demon had been right.

Jack was Hell's King and puppet.

"Sam, keep 'im compliant. We're headed to the garage to get the angel blades from the trunk."

There was a scream through the phone, and Castiel heard Sam say, "Don't worry. Got it covered."

Dean hung up, and continued dragging Castiel along, going faster now, the bunker flashing by.

"So he's there?" he asked, though he knew the answer. "He's really there?"

"Got it confirmed."

They entered the garage, and Dean's full-tilt run stopped at once again seeing the destruction to the Impala, so now it was Castiel's turn to tug and pull.

"We'll fix her after," he assured him, squeezing his hand as lightly as he could at the moment while adrenaline shot through his veins.

They popped open the trunk, grabbed the blades, and then Dean was leading him to the shower room of all places.

Sam was just as wet as Dean, water and blood dripping from both of them, and there was a demon held captive and tied to the showerhead, holy water raining down on him and filling the room with smoke.

"I don't understand," Cas began. "What are we-"

"He's taking us there," Sam answered as Dean tossed him a blade.

"You got that demonic teleportation thing, you son of a bitch?" Dean cried over the demon's screams.

He nodded, motions sharp and vigorous, blood pouring from between his clenched teeth.

"Good." Dean said. "Cas, you in?"

Castiel wanted to slow down, to stop, to talk about this, but he wasn't sure there was time. Jack could be getting hurt, or he could be hurting someone. The situation was certainly growing worse and worse with each second.

Funny that he'd prayed to God and help had come not from above, but through violence and blood and an entity from down below.

Sam turned the water off, and the demon gasped and sputtered out, words almost rounded as if his mouth was swelling up, "Can't… Can't do it in here. Too heavily… heavily warded."

"Fine, we'll take you outside," Dean began, and Sam cut in to finish:

"And if you try anything, we'll hunt you down."

The demon laughed, tilting his head back to look at all three of them, body limp, eyes defeated, but a challenge was still set in them.

"You don't even know my name."

Castiel helped Dean get him down from the showerhead, and summoned up his angel blade to press it against his back.

"Walk," he commanded. "And grace us with your name."

The demon spat blood at their feet, lips curled at them in disdain, a growl emanating from him. So it would appear they wouldn't be getting a name from him.

"Fine, don't talk," Dean grumbled. "We already got what we need from you anyway."

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, yeah, buddy, insult us on the way to Hell, save some time."

They got the demon outside without anymore incidents, shoving him along. It was the middle of the night, cold, the wind blowing, not even the stars visible through the trees and the heavy cover of clouds. It was lonely, empty, just the kind of night he'd expect for something such as this.

Castiel hadn't been to Hell since he'd been possessed by Lucifer, and suddenly the thought of all that sprang into his mind, but it didn't just flit by as natural thought; it sank in, like a stake getting hammered through his chest, a great wound opening up, and he almost had to stop. Sam put a hand on his arm to steady him, but he couldn't make himself look at him.

Lucifer being back was his fault.

And Lucifer was Sam's torturer.

Jack.

Jack was important now. Lucifer was a later problem. Hell was before him.

Without further discussion they all grabbed ahold of each other, and then the world faded around them.

* * *

Sam felt as if he was falling through the earth, descending, and then his body got yanked, tugged, like he was going to rip apart. He tried to scream, but it all happened too fast, and there was no air to breathe. There was nothingness, and then hard ground rushed up at him, and he collapsed on his side, the air completely knocked out of him, his body aching. The cold of the ground seeped through his wet clothes, and into his skin, and he shivered, groaning as he rolled onto his back. There was a cloudy sky in his vision, maybe a twinkling of stars, trees, and he was surrounded by gravestones, immersed by a layer of fog. Castiel and Dean lay about him, and the demon was a little farther off, just a shadow.

They were still on earth.

Just as he was about to wonder what had done it, what had pulled them there, there was a boot by his head, making him start and glance upwards, and all he could do was stare at who was standing over him.

"Hey, Sammy," Lucifer greeted, blue eyes flashing with eagerness in the dark before they simmered to a red. "Let's talk about my son."

* * *

Jack wasn't healing. He thought it was because he had hurt himself with his powers. But now he was up off the floor, stumbling, trying to find his way out. He had to get out of Hell, he just had to.

He ran his hands over himself as he made his way through the halls, willing the pain to go away, the handprints, the red, the blisters, hating himself, hating what he'd done, hating how thin he was, hating his bare skin.

 _Why, why, why?_

Jack couldn't be like this. He couldn't.

 _Have to save Heaven._

 _Have to save Heaven._

But not like this. He couldn't do it like this.

A demon confronted him, trying to help him, to keep him on his feet. Jack killed them.

And then he killed the next one.

Word quickly spread of the lives he'd taken, and Jack found himself running through the halls, going up, and up, trying to find a way out, nearly blind in his fear.

Footsteps were behind him, gaining on him, black smoke surrounded him, overcame him, and he fell to the floor, getting dragged down into the dark. He clawed at the stone, screaming as some of his nails broke off, and the demons got him.

They yelled and whispered and ripped and caressed, and Hell was all around him, and through it he heard Marell's voice, saying, "It didn't have to be this way, Jack. You could've had what you wanted. But you will be our king, a slave to us. Rumor has it you make a good slave."

Jack kept screaming, trying to cover himself, but there was no hope.

* * *

"H-h-how did you-? How are we-? Why?" Sam couldn't get his questions out and was tripping over them, barely breathing, stunned at who was standing over him. He wanted to shrink away, sink through the grass and dirt, and hide.

Lucifer started reaching down, and Sam was already getting up onto his elbows, rolling to get away, but this only seemed to help him in grabbing him. He got him by the front of his shirt, dragging him up to his feet, and stared at him hard, tilting his head at him, Sam uselessly scrabbling at his hands to try and break free

"Been a few months, huh, bunk buddy? But you're still just as aggravatingly perfect, aren't you?"

"Let him go!" Dean cried.

Sam was sure Dean and Castiel were on their feet now, but the demon he was unsure about.

"Did he bring us to you?" Sam asked.

Lucifer set him down, and brushed him off, making sure to touch as much of his torso as possible, leaving Sam tense and tingling, familiar disgust eating his stomach. He walked past him, ignoring Sam who knelt down to pick up the angel blade that had fallen from his hand. Lucifer must've known he had it, but didn't seem to care. Dean and Castiel already had theirs.

"That idiot? No, definitely not. Cas, buddy, do me a favor and kill him for me, will you? I don't want any uninvited guests at this uh - what shall we call it - four doesn't quite make an orgy, does it? Foursome. Let's call it a foursome."

Sam's jaw clenched, upper lip trembling, and he couldn't move, wasn't sure he could even make it over to Dean to hold him for support. But Dean jogged to his side, his grip on his shirt tight, yet fumbling. And Castiel did listen to Lucifer, killing the demon by slicing his throat - he didn't even have time to let out a choked cry.

"Now that that's done," Lucifer said, wiping his hands as if he'd done the work, leaving the three of them before him once the angel trotted back over to stand protectively by the Winchesters, "where's my son?"

"How did we get here?" Cas growled.

Lucifer rolled his eyes and started pacing. "Oh, right. That. Well, felt someone in Kansas trying to get to Hell, and I thought, who else could it be but you idiots, right? Used my powers, and yanked ya here. So let's be honest, I'm a little low on juice. I'm gonna unfortunately have to eat Cas though I had big plans for him, but I can mutilate his body I suppose, and _then_ , Dean, I'm going to use his guts to tie you to that gravestone behind you, the one shaped like the cross - I like it for aesthetic purposes. Now, not totally feasible given that guts are all slippery and gooey, but I think with a bit of my powers it'll work just fine. Might strip you too, clothes, skin, nails, the whole deal. And then Sam. Sam, Sam, _Sam_ , the things I have planned for you. Oh, I am going to go at you for _days_. Wonder what'll kill you first: the shock, the exhaustion, dehydration?"

"I thought you wanted to talk," Dean said, seeming to not have picked up on what Lucifer fully meant with the threat he'd directed at Sam, either that or he'd blocked it out. "This ain't really it. You done threatening us?"

"Come on, guys, I've had these fantasies for awhile. Let me live a little."

"No," Sam told him, forcing himself to take a step forward though he wanted to cower in fear, curl in on himself to make himself as small as possible. He held his blade up, ready to use it. "No, you don't get to enjoy this. You came to talk about Jack? Let's talk about Jack."

"Oh, Jack, so that's his name," Lucifer commented, coming closer, but Sam didn't back down. "You think he's your son, do you?"

"He is!" Sam argued.

The blow came before he even saw an arm coming up, and then Sam was on the ground, but he held onto his angel blade even more tightly, not daring to let go. Cheekbone throbbing, blood trickling from the wound, he lay there, and then there was a foot kicking into his diaphragm, driving all the air out of him. Sam tried to stab the blade into Lucifer's foot, but his hand was kicked aside, his wrist stepped on.

Dean and Castiel were on Lucifer now, driving him back, but Dean was thrown, head bashing into a gravestone, blood running. His eyes were unfocused, but he was on his hands and knees, trying to get up. Castiel was still facing off against him, holding the angel blade up to his face and trying to drive it into him, but Lucifer was forcing it back, trying to twist Castiel's wrist. There was a snap, but Cas held his ground.

Sam clambered to his feet and jumped onto Lucifer's back, an arm going around his throat, shoving his head forward with all his might, and the Devil screamed as the angel blade dug a few inches into his face, going through his cheekbone. He kicked out at Castiel, and Sam couldn't see where he aimed, but he heard a crunch, and then a cry from his friend, and he was being shoved aside, and then Sam was flipped over his back and Lucifer twisted.

A wheeze left him as the Devil stomped on his chest.

"Stay down," he ordered, even as Sam grappled with his foot, trying to get up.

As punishment for his struggles Sam was kicked in the face, till blood ran from his mouth, and he lay dazed.

Lucifer straddled his chest now, seeming so big on him, and, panicked, Sam's hands went to his thighs, trying to claw.

Dean and Castiel were dragging themselves up, and Lucifer held out a hand to keep them down.

"He's not your son," he told them. "He never was your son. Where is he, huh? Might as well hand him over. You took him from me."

"Not here," Sam gasped out, tears in his eyes at the truth, that Jack was in Hell, away from them. Maybe Lucifer was right. He wasn't their son.

"Where? I think you know."

Lucifer reached down, grabbed his face, movements harsh and unkind. He whispered, "You can tell me, Sammy. Dean, Cas, I can let them go, if you just tell me."

"And what will you do to Jack?" Sam asked, realizing his first thought wasn't about himself though this monster was on him, wasn't about the hurts in his body, or the burning touches replaying in his mind that seeped through his soul like black oil: it was his son.

Lucifer smiled at Sam and caressed his head as if he was a pet who had just done something rather stupid and silly, and Sam snarled at him, flinching away.

"I'm gonna use him."

Castiel roared at his words, having heard them though they had seemed only meant for Sam, and now Lucifer was off of him, going over to stomp on his friend.

"He's! Not! Yours!" Satan declared, his words punctuated with the heavy _thwack!_ of his boot against Castiel's side, and then a _crack!_ He was left on the ground, clutching at one of his ribs, gasping. Sam was crawling over to him, hoping to go unnoticed. "I'm the one who fucked his mother! I'm the one who got the bitch pregnant! It was my seed in her, my Grace!"

"You raped her!" Sam cried, unable to stay quiet, remembering how Kelly had talked of being used, knowing that she hadn't consented to sleeping with the Devil, but instead had thought it'd been the president.

Dean was too quiet, blood pouring from the wound on his head, but he was glaring up at Lucifer with defiance, even with his unfocused gaze.

"Quiet, or I'll rape you!" Lucifer snapped.

Sam flinched, and then he looked to Dean.

Dean was looking at him now, and he saw it: realization.

Maybe Lucifer's concentration had broken, maybe his powers were waning and he really was weakened, but Dean took up the angel blade and he let out a fierce yell, and he lunged right at him, getting him in the chest.

It didn't kill him.

If anything, it just made him angry.

His eyes were red as he ripped the blade free, headbutted Dean, and then stabbed the blade through his arm, and pinned him to the ground with it. Dean was screaming, and Sam tried to rush over to him, but Lucifer grabbed him and threw him with one hand, and he went tumbling into the grass. He grabbed the blade from his brother, and threw it at him when he tried to rise and it caught him in the thigh. Sam fell to his knees, and there he stayed, screaming through his teeth, willing his blood to stay in even as he felt his body going cold.

Castiel tried to go to him, but Lucifer held up his hand, fingers ready to snap.

"Make a move, and it's over. Now, I want Jack. Bring him here. One of you pray to him. Sammy, why don't you do it?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, and licked his dry lips, the wind slicing through his clothes, life bleeding out of him.

The dark was turning into gray, and everything looked dead and despairing.

"Out loud," Lucifer added.

"I won't," he growled. Lucifer put a hand to Dean's throat, not taking his eyes off Sam. "No," he affirmed. "You're gonna just take away what everyone's taken from him. That's the thing, Lucifer, he's not mine, he's not Cas', he's not Dean's, and he's not yours. He's a kid, and he belongs to himself. So kill us, but he's going to destroy you."

Lucifer gave Sam a chilly smile that didn't meet his eyes, a challenge.

"We'll see."

With his powers, he withdrew the angel blade from Sam's leg, making him begin to bleed out, and he put the blade to Dean's throat.

Sam's only thought was of Jack.

* * *

Jack felt a tugging in him, deeper than his bones, and it felt like home. They weren't words, but words weren't needed.

Sam. Dean. Castiel.

They needed him.

They wanted him.

It was time for Jack to go to them, to go home.

He let out a fierce cry, fighting with all the demons, trying to see through the black smoke, and then he saw light, gold amidst the vast hellish darkness, and he felt his wings spreading out behind him even as demons tried to hang on and rip and keep him down below.

Sam. Dean. Castiel.

A tear trailed down Jack's face as he flew to his family.

He landed on cold grass just growing damp with early morning dew, and he had no time to take in his surroundings. Already adrenaline was kicking into high gear. Sam was kneeling, bloodied, Castiel was off to the side, still, eyes wide with horror, and Lucifer knelt over Dean, a blade to his throat, having sliced in by a millimeter.

Jack stood to his full height, letting his Grace fill him, heal him, feeling his body become how it was supposed to be, without its hurts, without its malnourishment, its mistreatment, its burdens, and his eyes glowed gold, his wings spreading out behind him.

He hadn't wanted to face his biological father just now, but it was something he was ready for, and evidently, he was the bad guy. And if Jack could save his dads, that was one good thing. Maybe it could fix the mistake his existence was. Maybe it could make up for the wrongs he'd done to them.

Lucifer got to his feet, seemingly in awe, mouth open.

"Jack? Jack, it's me. It's your father."

Jack glanced around at his dads, at Dean crawling over to Sam, even as he bled from his arm, Sam taking his belt off to wrap it around his thigh, at Castiel making his way towards them to lay his hands on them and heal, or at least comfort. They looked as though they'd been through a hard fight. He looked back to Lucifer, at the cut that marred his face, the blood trailing down it, and their blood that was on him.

"Did you do this?" he asked.

Lucifer shrugged. "Can you blame me? They took you away from me. They-they wanted to keep you for themselves, keep you weak, compliant."

" _No._ "

Lucifer had been approaching, but he stopped dead at hearing Jack's commanding voice, and he put his hands in his pockets, chewing on his bottom lip, rocking on his feet.

"No?"

"No. You hurt them."

"Don't tell me you haven't hurt them too."

"I have," he admitted. "But I'm sorry. You're not. You… You made me. But they took care of me."

"Jack, I can do that too."

Jack glanced at his dads again, at all the blood, and guessed at what other wounds he couldn't see. He had been afraid of Lucifer, but now, facing him, after facing Hell, he wasn't afraid of him, really, not even afraid of himself. He knew he wasn't that. He wasn't the demons down below, and he wasn't this being before him who he was sure was somehow twisting words.

He shook his head, and held his hand out, feeling ultimate power rage through him. "No, you can't."

"Jack, we can explore the universe together, we can rebuild, we can be _gods!_ You don't need them! You need me! Only I understand what it's like to be you, to be powerful, to be something that they're not! Look at them! _Look!_ They're weak! They're pathetic and weak and _flawed_ , and we're not! I'm not!"

"You are."

Jack willed one thing into his mind: Lucifer gone.

With a massive scream that turned into an echoing ring that broke the gravestones around them, inner light took over his body, like the burning of a dying, once beautiful, star. Blood issued forth from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, and his back arched as if he was pulled up by a string, forced to stand on his toes. The crimson of his lifeforce bubbled out of him, till he was unrecognizable and coated in the true color of his sins, and then light burst from him, a giant pillar that raged as cold white, blinding the humans who saw it, bringing tears to their eyes, and looking to Jack like a true test of his power. Jack was not this dying being: he was the destroyer of it. He would smother the bad, turn from it, be who he was meant to be.

" _Jack, don't let anyone tell you who you're supposed to be. Because who you're supposed to be isn't fate, it isn't me, it isn't your father._ "

The dying Grace that had been his father issued forth a force so great that Sam, and Dean were knocked down by it. The light died, the sky was still that pre-dawn gray where everything was dead and pale.

" _You are who you choose to be. And I know you're going to be okay. You are going to be amazing._ "

Ash rained from the sky, and the only mark left of Jack's father were black glittering wings spread out on the ground where a body would've lain had he simply been killed and had not met ultimate destruction. Lucifer was no more.

" _You have an angel watching over you._ "

Jack let his powers fade in him, and he lowered his hand, tears in his eyes, looking to Castiel who held his other dads. An angel watching over him, over all of them.

Sam. Dean. Castiel.

"Dad!" he cried, knowing they'd know it was for all of them.

He ran through the ash that fell from the sky, ran through the graveyard, ran to them, seeing the awe in their faces, the tears, and he held them, encompassed by light as Castiel healed.

These were his parents. This was his family, and they welcomed Jack in the gray and the fog all around them.

"I have to go," he told them. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

Sam gripped his hand hard, even though it was slick with blood.

"No, no, no, no, no. G-go where?"

"Heaven. I'm going to save Heaven."

"No, Jack, _don't_ ," Dean argued. "Please, don't."

Cas: "Don't do this."

"I have to."

And this time Jack said it not because of what the angels had told him, but because he knew it would save souls, and save his mother, and it would be good. It was because he wanted to.

He'd found another way.

Jack kissed each of them on the forehead, remembering such a scene from a movie he'd watched with Sam, and then he promised, "I'll be back."

Jack went to Heaven.


	37. Jack

" _I know you can do this, Jack. I know you can._ "

Doubt. His heart was trying to hammer its way out of his chest when he stood in the white halls again, vulnerable, his torso bare, alone. But his enemies would come before him soon.

" _I can't._ "

The angels were there now: Laila, Ariel, Tamiel, Naomi, and others behind them.

" _Listen to me, Jack. Yes, you can. You are far stronger than any human, than any angel. Stronger than me, stronger than your father. And no, it's not because of_ what _you are. It's because of_ who _you are. You are_ good _. You are my_ son _, and I know you have strength left in you._ "

Those words played in Jack's head, and he saw his mother's face, brave, and strong, and kind, filled with love.

"Jack?" Naomi asked, brushing past Laila to come forward.

All the angels seemed too stunned by his presence to grab him, and he used it step forward.

"What are you doing here?" she went on. "We need you, but we thought-"

"I know what you thought," he said. "You thought you hurt me. And you did. You tortured me. You raped me." They all seemed shocked by his words, appalled that a child had said such a thing. In truth he wanted to curl up on the floor in a ball and cry, let himself fall and lay there amongst the white halls forever, but he couldn't. "Yes, Sam taught me what that word means. He taught me a lot of things: Sam, Dean, Castiel, they took care of me. They're my family. You may have told me that you're my family, but you're not. You used me."

"Are you here to kill us?" Naomi questioned, not a tremor in her voice.

"Yes," Jack answered honestly, feeling cold hatred in him, born of pain and the emptiness they'd dug out of him with their machines. But he was doing this so that Heaven could be reborn anew, so they couldn't sew it with seeds of doubt, and evil, so that this couldn't happen again.

"And then after, I'll save Heaven," he declared. "But not because of you, because of me. I found a better way."

Naomi gave him a sad smile, her gray eyes clear, and told him, "I'm glad."

But there was no apology there, and he didn't see an apology from any of the other angels. They still thought they were right, that they had been right, had done what they'd had to do. They'd raped Jack to save Heaven, and in doing so they'd doomed themselves, lowered themselves. Jack closed his eyes, held up his hand, and killed them. Jack killed Naomi for all the times she'd drilled into his head and warped his mind and his memories. Jack killed Laila for the time he'd been held down and she'd lain on top of him, and all the times thereafter. Jack killed Ariel for her soft, sweet lies about playtime and rolling around in bed. Jack killed Tamiel for all her kindness and deception, for showing him the Garden, for raping him just as the others had. Jack killed them for all the wrong they'd done, killed them for the sins of Heaven.

Only a few angels remained once their vessels' bodies dropped to the ground and their wings shown on the floor. They stood still, with bated breath. Heaven lay in darkness. Jack opened his eyes now, glowing gold, focusing on them, judging them for what they were, angels who hadn't touched him, but who had stood by, who had watched.

A male voice cried, "Jack, we never-"

"But you helped," he told them. "And if you didn't help, you let them." He stepped towards them, but went on, "But if I kill you Heaven dies. Don't be them. Or I'll come for you."

They nodded, and then they ran from him down the dark halls, away from the bodies of their fallen brethren, away from him. The lights didn't come back on, but Heaven had not yet fallen.

Jack walked, stepping over the bodies. He wouldn't do this in one of the halls, wouldn't do this in the endless labyrinth of God's soldiers that had led him to torment, wouldn't do it near his old bedroom, or the Room, or even in one of the Heavens inhabited by the souls, but in the Garden. Jack wanted to see the Garden again, the only place where he'd felt belonging, love, even in a godless realm such as this. Here, there was no God, no one that cared, no one that had helped Jack. All his family was down below, on Earth, even with Castiel, an angel.

Castiel wasn't a soldier of Heaven, a soldier of God.

Castiel was a soldier of Earth, of the Winchesters.

Jack had brought him back.

He could bring them back too.

Jack went to the Garden, to the silver-white tree that led to the Axis Mundi, and blinked up at its sprawling beauty. Gold leaves fell down about him in the darkness, and in this darkness, not even lights twinkled in the trees, and the flowers about him seemed lifeless and alone. Jack sat down, closed his eyes, and focused. He could do this.

When he opened his eyes once more he was no longer in the Garden, but in a blank place. There was nothing but black emptiness, and he shuddered back at the sight of it.

 _Can I do it?_

" _I know you can do this, Jack. I know you can._ "

"Hello!" Jack called. "Hello! Anyone?"

This was where Castiel had been when he'd died. Jack was sure of it. But now it was… empty.

Something rose up amidst the blank, multiple somethings, like bodies lying side by side.

Jack felt silly doing this, and felt like he couldn't breathe after everything he'd done, but he must do this, he had to, so he yelled out, voice not echoing in this wide, blank space, "Awake! I command you! _Awake!_ "

A voice rang out, cold, and sharp, "You shall not take them."

"Heaven is dying!" Jack declared, and though he felt wrong in this, he said, "They are mine to take."

Black liquid, like oozing metal and oil rose up before him, even as more forms came up from the ground to lie like the buried dead - hundreds, thousands - and the ooze took shape before him. Jack was looking at himself, and there was no light in its eyes.

"What are you," it asked, "if not mine? You are angel-spawn. You are meant to go to sleep with all of Heaven's angels."

"I'm not one of them," Jack said.

And they began to circle each other, and though it looked like himself, he felt the need to size it up, finding something wrong with the copy that he couldn't quite pinpoint. It was trying its best, but it wasn't him.

"No? Then what are you?"

"I'm Jack."

"Jack is but a name. Are you your name?"

"I'm me. I'm archangel, and human, a Nephilim, born of Kelly Kline, a son of Lucifer, a Winchester, chosen son of Castiel. What are you?"

The thing gestured to itself, smirking. "Can't you see?"

"You're not me."

"I'm this," it explained, spreading its arms out. "I'm the Empty. I'm where you're going to go when you die. I'm it. I'm the end. I'm where Castiel was before you woke him up. He's my property, and you took him from me!" It came forward, grabbing Jack by the jaw and lowering him to his knees, eyes blazing though they still held a nothingness. "And now you dare to take them from me?! They are mine!"

"Heaven is dying!" Jack said.

"Then let it die! Look at what they did to you! Live it again!"

The Empty grabbed his head, and Jack fell to the ground, shuddering, unable to scream, spit dribbling from his mouth. An inhuman sound left him, and pure evil took over his mind.

The drill.

Rape after rape after rape after rape.

The machines.

The drill.

Rape.

Endless.

On and on and on it went.

The machines, the drill, rape.

Rape.

Rape.

Rape.

 _RAPE._

When Jack came to the Empty was kneeling by him, running a hand through his hair.

"You see, Jack? There's no need to save Heaven. It deserves _death_ , doesn't it? They're mine. You're free of it, free to leave them to me."

Jack was shuddering, hot, cold, _sick_ , face wet with tears. They'd tortured him, they'd raped him, all to save themselves.

They needed saving, even from what they'd done.

Jack turned to the Empty and spoke one word, mustering up what strength he had left: "No."

"What?"

Jack started rising, pushing himself up, getting right in its face. "No. I'm waking them up. I'm bringing them back."

The Empty went for his throat. Jack ended up on the ground, straddled by the entity that looked like him, and he clawed struggling for breath. Its expression was that of twisted madness, like this was its last resort, and Jack was going to die alone here. Maybe he was. He didn't know how to fight, hadn't learned from his family yet.

 _What would they do, what would they do?_

They'd give everything they had. Sam, Dean, Castiel, they didn't give up, and Jack wasn't about to give up on them.

He bashed at the wrists, the elbows, thinking they were weaker there, tried lifting up his head to smack into its face. It didn't make the squeezing pressure on his throat go away, and he couldn't breathe, his head and lungs pounding, but he seemed to have surprised it enough to roll, get on top for a few seconds. They ended up just rolling, scrabbling, arms and legs, pulling and tugging, strangling, and somehow, Jack ended up on top, the Empty facing away from him, Jack having it in a headlock.

"Sleep," Jack commanded.

"You cannot make me."

" _Sleep!_ "

The Empty morphed in his arms, turning from him, to that oily black, and then to nothingness. Jack fell to his hands and knees, breathing hard, feeling at his body to make sure everything was still intact.

Once he caught his breath he stood and faced all the mounds that had risen up, and he raised his arms, and shouted, "Awake!"

And they did. Angels, angels like he'd never see before came from the black, to their feet, all in clothes of white. Jack had been able to place those who had hurt him in this dark place: Cael, Naomi, Laila, Ariel, Tamiel, and to his surprise, Duma, and he let them remain asleep. The others came forward.

"You're dead," Jack told them, even as his eyes searched the crowd, searched these beings that made his skin crawl, that made him want to run. There were two faces he looked for, even as he spoke, "But I've woken you up. Heaven is dying, and it needs you to keep it running."

"Who are you?" a pale-skinned angel asked. She had dark, dark hair in waves down past her shoulders, bangs, and kind, blue eyes. She almost didn't frighten Jack… almost.

"I'm Jack," he answered, feeling as though he should give them all a smile, but was unwilling to. "You should go down to Heaven now. It was dark when I was there."

And so the angels left, departing first one by one, and then in masses till Jack was alone with the two people he had wanted to see. Nathaniel, and Anael stepped forward, and Anael held something in her arms.

"Hi, Jack," Anael greeted. She was in a white sundress, beautiful against the black of the Empty, her stomach flat, and Jack almost wanted to run his hands over it in confusion. Their baby. Where…?

"Hello, Jack." Nathaniel. He too was in white - pants, and a tunic - and just seeing him, especially with Anael made him burn.

Jack dug his nails into his palms, not sure what to do, wanting to hug them, wanting to hurt them, wanting to do things he now knew he was too young to do, things he'd done with them before. His vision blurred, and a tear fell down his cheek.

"I didn't have to wake you up," he explained. "The others who… who... " Jack turned his head down, unable to look at them as he went on, "...raped me… are still sleeping. I killed some of them."

"You know what we did," Nathaniel stated.

Jack nodded, and his body grew numb and tingly. He wasn't sure how he was still standing.

He bit his bottom lip, shaking where he stood, more tears trailing down his cheeks, and when he looked up, both angels were crying too.

Nathaniel seemed to almost reach out, but then pulled himself back. "I won't ever touch you again," he told him. "A-and I'm sorry I ever did. I'm sorry for-for kidnapping you, and helping Duma, and Naomi, and coming up with what they did to you in that room, and taking you there, and - oh, Jack, I'm sorry for everything."

"And I'm sorry, too," Anael said after sniffling. "I got involved to help you, not hurt you. But I did. We wronged you, Jack. We did so many bad things, and I'm so sorry. I never should've touched you."

Jack wanted to _feel_ from their apologies, to understand and know that they had done wrong, that these were bad people apologizing to him, and he realized they were bad people, but they weren't all bad. They'd just done bad things, and he loved them.

But he wasn't ready to forgive them.

And he wondered something else…

Jack wiped his face with the palm of his hand, and asked, "Why aren't we doing this in Heaven? You can say sorry there."

"No, Jack, we can't," Anael said. "Or at least, I can't. Nathaniel?"

He shook his head, a sad smile breaking out on his face, more tears falling. "I can't either."

"No, no! What do you mean?" Jack asked, rushing over to them, now grabbing them. Anael's bundle in her arms stayed hidden, and Jack wondered what it was, but he was too overcome, now feeling too much, hurting so much inside he hardly cared at the moment. A jagged knife was ripping through his heart.

"We're awake," Anael said. "And we're awake because of you, so thank you. But we can't go back. _We hurt you, Jack._ We hurt you so very badly, and you're such a beautiful, brave, strong boy, and no one deserves your pain."

"Bu-but… No, no! That's not how it's supposed to be! You weren't supposed to die! You weren't! You were saving me, both of you!"

"We were," Nathaniel said, "but we did wrong."

"No, _no_."

"Jack, you have to let us go," he told him.

Jack fell back and away from them, turning from them, sobbing, shoulders shaking, unable to breathe, head spinning, throat aching. He didn't talk, knowing he wouldn't be able to get words out.

Anael came forward and rested her chin on his shoulder, not letting go of her bundle, which she still hadn't revealed to him.

"It's okay, Jack," she murmured. "It's okay. You have a family. I know because I saw them bleed for you, I saw them fight to get you back. They love you."

Jack turned to her, and took her face in his hands. "I love you," he admitted.

"And I can't love you," she said. "You're a child. All of what I've done is wrong. It's why I have to stay dead."

She pulled out of his touch, and Jack had to swallow back the hurt and bitterness rising up in him. Nathaniel came forward now.

"Jack, you were never the bad guy in this. We were. You're a good kid."

He was suddenly overcome with the urge to ask Nathaniel if he loved him, but he worried that he'd receive the same answer from him as he had from Anael, so he just told him, plain and simple, "I love you."

"I know."

"And I have someone else here who can love you," Anael said, pulling the blanket aside, showing Jack the bundle.

His mouth dropped open, tears stinging in his eyes when he was met with an impossibly tiny face with a little pink mouth, big, bright, brown eyes that stared up at him, and a head swept with little tufts of chestnut.

"This is our daughter, Jack."

Those words almost made him collapse, and he found himself taking her into his arms, cradling her head, so worried about potentially dropping her, or even squeezing her too tight. _Too young, too young, too young,_ were the words echoing in his mind, but looking at that little face, he didn't care. If anything, she could be raised alongside him, and she could be his friend.

"Wh-what do we name her?" Jack asked.

"Why don't you name her?"

Jack shook his head. He couldn't do it. He hadn't been thinking of names, hadn't been planning for this. His daughter had been dead. That's all he'd been ready for.

"Alright, well, what about Anryel?"

"Anryel?" he asked, still staring down at her, finding her odd and beautiful, and filled with so much pain and sadness, but something else as well.

"It means gift."

Jack tore his eyes away, finding a smile on his lips as he looked at Anael. "Gift? It's a good name."

He set his sights back on his daughter now. "Hi, Anryel," he cooed at her. "I'm Jack." And that's how he introduced himself, not _dad_ , not _father_. Just Jack.

"Thank you," Jack told Anael, and then he shifted, feeling like his time there was up. He had to go. He knew he couldn't leave them awake, and his bottom lip was trembling with what he knew he had to do next. He was so blinded with tears by it, that he couldn't see them fade back into the blackness when he commanded, "Sleep."

Anryel started to cry.

* * *

Jack re-entered the graveyard on his knees, the sun rising to a red dawn, and he sobbed, holding his little girl in his arms.

"J-Jack?" Sam called tentatively.

"Jack!"

"Jack!"

The three of them, newly healed were rushing over to him, and about him now, and Jack told them, "Careful. You don't want to hurt her."

He straightened and showed them the baby he'd been crying over. Immediately he was bombarded with surprise, confusion, denial, hurt, sadness, acceptance, and then even love when they looked closer and saw how small she was.

"This is Anryel," Jack told them. "My daughter."

Jack stared at his dads, afraid, somehow feeling so small, and alone, but knowing he wouldn't run from them again, that he wouldn't hurt them, and they wouldn't hurt him.

Dean sighed, as if he'd come to some momentous decision, and swiped his thumb across Anryel's cheek, accidently getting some blood on it. "Welcome to the fucking family, kid."

* * *

 **A/N: And now all that's left of this is the epilogue! I have no idea how I made it here. Last I checked I was in the middle of the story, and then I made it all the way through everything I had planned for months. This has been one hell of a ride, and I'm actually surprised it's coming to a close.**


	38. Anryel

Heaven was running smoothly. Castiel was allowed to listen to angel radio once again, the right given back to him by the angel, Hannah, the one who had asked Jack his name in the Empty. Jack had explained to Sam, Dean, and Castiel what he'd done to save it, and they were all amazed by his story, and after a few days of recuperating at the bunker, checking that Hell was no longer looking for him and that Asmodeus had retaken the throne, and shopping for _lots_ of things that they needed for baby Anryel, Jack realized he had one thing left to do.

It was why he was in Heaven now, standing before a white door, marked in silver glowing letters:

 _Kelly Kline_

 _1978 - 2017_

"You're sure about this?" Castiel asked him.

Jack held Anryel just a little bit closer, and she kicked in his arms. She hadn't decided to grow up fast like he had and was staying as a baby for now. It made more work for all of them, but maybe it was smart for her to stay that way. There'd be less people in the world who would look at a baby as a tool to use.

"I am," he answered.

"And we won't tell her your age," Castiel said.

Jack nodded, suddenly finding it hard to swallow.

He wasn't even a year old, but he looked older, and that was on his side.

"She won't remember what was told to her about your time here. The souls know only bliss. We mustn't ruin that for her."

Jack nodded, understanding, and knowing he never wanted to hurt her.

They opened the door and entered his mother's Heaven.

It was the same as it had been last time, but as if it had never seen the fight that had marred it. Water plashed among the rocks of the pond, ringed with flowers bursting with color. The grass was perfectly trimmed, and not a single shrub was out of line.

"Mom!" Jack called as he stepped forward, not seeing her.

She came from the back of the house, in a dress of white with yellow flowers, and her radiant face lit up in a smile upon seeing him and Castiel.

"Jack! Castiel!" She held her skirt up with one hand and ran to them. She embraced them, and Jack inhaled her scent, and she smelled like home. Then she smiled down at Anryel, mouth open in surprise, her eyes bright and sparkling, "Jack, who's this?"

"Meet your granddaughter," he told her. "Mom, this is Anryel."

Kelly started crying, and soon she was kissing Jack on the forehead, and holding Anryel, and telling her she loved her. Cas stood by with an arm around Jack.

"Mom, are you happy?" Jack asked.

"Of course I'm happy, baby." She caressed Jack's cheek, carefully holding his daughter against her, and Anryel grabbed onto a lock of her hair and started playing with it, sucking it into her mouth. "You're a father."

Jack smiled, but knew it didn't reach his eyes, but he didn't duck or hide behind Castiel as he wished to. Somehow he was sure his mother saw it, saw the pain in him, all that'd been taken from him, all that'd been forced on him, and she ran her hand into his hair, a tear sliding down her cheek, but still she smiled - loving, reassuring.

"Jack, you are _amazing_."

* * *

 **A/N:** **And so we come to the end. I admit, I thought this story was going to be 30,000 words, not over 160,000, but who's counting, right? I hope I made you cry, and feel for Jack, and hope along the way. This actually started as a birthday present for my identical twin last year, but then it became more than that, and I wanted to tell something, something both fictional, but somehow still real all at once. I admit, it's insanely fun to hurt characters, it really is. But I like to hurt with a plot and a purpose, as I'm sure you know by now if you've made it here, my final author's note. I wanted to show that it's okay to love the people who hurt you, that it's okay to hurt, that there is a lot of pain in this world, and if you are one of those people out there who do hurt very badly, you're not alone. And it doesn't make you the bad guy. Jack certainly wasn't the bad guy. And Jack's not defined by his parents, but by himself and who he chooses to be, even with his trauma. That's what this story is, and if you made it here, thank you. Thank you. It's been one hell of a ride.**


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